


Swamp Princess

by Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archery, Catelyn is alright, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Female Friendship, First Love, Girl gangs? I think you mean female archery squads, In depth discussions of swamp living, Married Life, Ned is a good dad, Ned is actually smart and a little more politically savvy, Night King doesn’t exist, Sister-Sister Relationship, Swamp Culture, Warg Sansa Stark, Wargs, are ya happy now?, awkward teenagers, i guess, jon has been added, there, this turned out longer than planned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish/pseuds/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish
Summary: ‘But solemn was the right word to describe her betrothed, as Sansa stood across from him and his father. She was tall for her age, still growing too in fact. But he was tall as well, just reaching over her height.Dirty blonde, slightly curling hair, and bright green eyes, Sansa found that the artist depicted him well, and all she needed was colour to add to his features.’Ned Stark and Howland Reed forge a betrothal between their children, and the future changes.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Jojen Reed/Sansa Stark, Ned Stark & Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark & Meera Reed
Comments: 56
Kudos: 110





	1. Part 1: letters and learning

**Author's Note:**

> In this world, the Night King was killed by Bran the Builder, and there is no three-eyed raven. The canon timeline starts later, as I have creative liberty and can do what I want.
> 
> Also, I wanted this to be a short little one shot but it has now decided to become a multi-chaptered bitch. Hopefully no more than three chapters, as political intrigue is horrible and i hate writing it cause im terrible at it. I mainly just wanted to write Sansa learning and adjusting to living in a swamp, but noooo, politics!
> 
> Also using the tv show cast as the looks of the characters.

Eddard watched as Sansa and Arya ran about the court yard, laughing and giggling with one another. It was a rare occasion that they got along lately, and he agonised over what to do, wanting his children to get along. In his hand he clutched a small scroll, a letter from his friend Howland Reed.

After a lesson from her Septa, Sansa had been talking much about future marriage, a love-struck look of innocence that only a child could have in this cruel world on her face. He knew he would have to pick a good match, but also wanted it to be a happy one for his daughter.

Betrothal at a young age was not so strange, but Ned wanted it to be to someone he himself could trust to take care of his first born daughter. And then a thought struck him, when ruminating over the list of possible sons for her to marry.

Howland Reed was a good man, loyal both to the Stark house and to him as a friend. He was also there through the worst time of Ned’s life, and kept a secret that could have him killed for knowing. In some ways, Ned was constantly trying to find a way to repay his friend for everything he has done for his family.

When he had heard of the birth of his second child, a son and heir to Greywater Watch, he had sent a congratulations. But come twelve years later after Jojen’s birth, Ned eyed his ten year old daughter thoughtfully and decided.

With the letter in hand, he had planned to summon Sansa to his solar but instead wanted to see how she was without the knowledge of her Lord Father watching. To see those usual manners and poise disappear under the banner of childhood.

Smiling softly down at his two daughters, Ned hoped that this was a good decision.

When Sansa was brought to her father’s solar after playing with Arya, she was expecting a reprimand. Her dress was speckled with mud and hair in disarray as she marched like she was heading towards her execution.

‘ _Septa Mordane would be ashamed of me._ ’

The dread continued to well up as she entered after knocking, and stood in front of her father, head bowed.

“Why so sad, child?” Her father rumbled, and she dared to glance up, hands creasing her dress in worry.

“I am in trouble aren’t I?” Sansa asked in a tiny voice, and he just quirked an eyebrow up at that.

“Did you do something wrong?”

“I’m messy!” She blurted out, “And Septa said that it isn’t ladylike to get dirty.”

He leant back in his seat in thought, tapping his lip. “Well, I do not think it’s a problem as long as on formal occasions you comport yourself as a Lady. But when playing with your siblings, I do not mind.” 

Shy and hopeful, Sansa asked, “So I’m not in trouble?”

He let out a soft exhale, like he was laughing to himself, “Of course not, Sansa.”

Her worried face broke into a relieved smile, and in return his usually stern expression softened as he beckoned her closer. Eager, she trotted to his side behind the desk and let him pull her up to sit on his lap. It has been a few years since she had been allowed to sit with him like this, but she had no problem happily snuggling into his chest, looking over his desk with a wondered awe.

‘ _Maybe I can have a desk like this someday!’_ She exclaimed in her mind, gazing around the room at a higher height, taking in all the shelves bursting with books and scrolls.

His arms then came around her on either side, and she watched with open curiosity as he unraveled a scroll that sat in front of them. The hand writing was very neat and as she began to lean forward, curious to take a closer look, she stopped herself, hands flying up to cover her eyes.

Her father chuckled softly, louder now that she was closer to hear it, and felt it echo into her chest. “Why do you cover your eyes, little one?”

Behind her hands, Sansa recited dutifully, “It is rude to read someone else’s letters! So I shan’t look.” She was determined to be as polite as possible and stated her intentions firmly.

A rough hand softly rested on one of her arms gently, “Well, in this case, you may.”

With that, her hands slowly crept from her face, twisting around to look at her father to make sure he was being truthful. At his small nod, she whipped back around and leaned in close to read the letter, eager to know what the neat handwriting said.

Finger following the words, she slowly read along, mouth out each word to herself. When she got to the end, she blinked, letting the new information settle in her mind. Frowning, she twisted back around once more.

“I am to be married, Father?” A little stunned by this knowledge, she stared wide eyed up at him.

His hand ran through her messy hair, flattening it down a little as he spoke with a solemn voice, “You are betrothed to a dear friend of mine’s son. Lord Jojen Reed is but two years older than you.”

“‘ _Reed_ ’?” Frowning back down at the letter, she recalled her lessons and questioned further, “They are the house that lives in the Neck, correct?”

He smiled in approval at her knowledge, her heart swelling with pride at her memory, and confirmed, “Howland Reed is Lord of Greywater Watch, and they are the North’s first defence against the South.”

Cocking her head to the side, she asked with childish curiosity, “Why would we need to be defended?”

His gentle eyes seemed to grow sad and serious, replying lowly, “War happens, my child. It is unfortunate, but that is how the world is.”

Looking down at her fingers, wringing them out of nervousness. She didn’t know what he was trying to say, but it sounded very serious, so she nodded with an equally serious expression. “I understand, Father.”

He then got the topic back to where it should be, asking gently, “What do you think of the betrothal?”

Pursing her little lips in thought, she wondered, “Is he a nice boy?” Before perking up, hands clasped in delight, “Oh! Is he a gallant knight like in the songs?” Her mind began to drift off to the songs that she knew, but her father brought her quite quickly out of that fantasy.

He chuckled, “I do not know about being a knight, as he is just a boy, but I trust Lord Reed to raise a good son, so yes. I do believe he is a nice boy.”

A part of her pouted at him not being a knight, but pushed that aside, focusing on him confirming her first question. Sansa wanted to marry a boy who would be nice to her and not tease her like Theon sometimes did. Mind settling on a decision, she resolutely said, “Then I must learn everything about my future husband, if that is all you know, yes?” 

Her father smiled in approval.

“Do you plan to send him letters?”

Perking up, not having even thought of letters, she exclaimed, “Yes! That is a wonderful idea! I was going to read all about House Reed and ask Maester Luwin, but sending a letter would be much more fun!”

She wiggled out of his arms and hopped down to the floor, intent of racing off to the rookery when her father’s voice stopped her. “Sansa.”

Though impatient to go write a letter, she could not ignore the call of her father, and turned around to face him. Her feet unsubtly shifted in place, ready to take off as soon as possible.“Yes Father?”

But as he opened his mouth to speak, he stopped and just closed it. There was an amused smile crossing his features and then made a motion to her dress. “Best get changed. We do not want your Septa getting upset.”

With a loud gasp, she looked down at her dress, remembering how messy it was, and gave her father a grateful smile. “Of course, Father!” She chirped before once more dashing out of his solar.

After changing from her muddy blue dress to a cleaner grey one, she finally let herself stop and breath. ‘ _I’m betrothed!_ ’ She thought with joy. Hurrying over to her small desk, she grabbed a quill and some parchment, and began to write. Her mind was filled with daydreams already of being married and living in a castle.

_To Lord Jojen Reed, Heir of Greywater Watch,_

_I am excited to learn of our betrothal, and confess that I do not have much knowledge of your home besides what is taught by out Maester. I know that you are the southern most Northern house, and that you guard my Father’s lands. But I would like to know all there is to know of your home, from your perspective. Lessons only teach you so much, and the land must very different to how it is father up North._

_I eagerly await your reply,_

_Lady Sansa of House Stark._

After setting the quill back down, she looked at her letter with trepidation, hoping that it wasn’t badly written. Sansa had only just started to learn how to write a formal letter in her lessons, and wanted this to be perfect. Letting the ink dry, she then rolled it up and sealed it with her house seal. It wasn’t the lordship one like her father’s but it would be enough to tell her betrothed that it’s from her family.

Cheeks aching from the smile that had not left her face since the news, she ran all the way to the Rookery, and asked Maester Luwin for a raven to the Neck. “It is to my betrothed, Lord Jojen Reed!”

She whispered in excitement, hands cupping her mouth and the man rose an eyebrow in surprise. “You are sending him a letter, my lady?”

Nodding fervently, Sansa rhetorically asked, “It would be good for us to know one another, right? And I must learn all there is to know about his land!”

He smiled, one of approval, and her heart swelled with how much approval she had gotten today. “Very good, my lady. If you are so eager to learn, I do have some books and scrolls on House Reed, as well as the Crannogmen and their history.”

Her eyes lit up, and gleefully cried, “Oh, that would be wonderful Maester Luwin!”

After he gave her an indulgent smile he set to work on tying the letter to a raven, and with her arms and head resting on the large window, Sansa watched as the bird became a black dot in the distance.

In the meantime, Sansa dutifully went about her lessons, trying to focus though her mind constantly wandered off to the letter she sent. She hoped he would reply. On top of her usual studies, she happily received the books and scrolls from the Maester, and would spend nights by the candlelight, reading all about the history of the Marsh Kings, and the legends of how the Children of the Forest turned the Neck into swampy marsh lands.

A part of her scrunched her face at how messy it must be, dirtying their clothes, but the figured that maybe it was like snow. And how she was so used to the cold and wet element, learning to deal with it like any Northerner, they must do the same with mud.

During embroidery, she began to teach herself how to sew the Reed Sigil, and was a little relieved that the house colours, a dull, mossy green and black at least matched her hair. She found the lizard-lion to be an interesting creature and a fun challenge to sew. Sansa wondered if the marshy-men have use of a handkerchief, before deciding against making it.

_‘I need to learn more about them before making anything for Jojen._ ’

The more she dove into the books, the more she found their way of life fascinating and creative. They did not have castles or stone structures, to her brief disappointment. Instead they had villages made out of thatch and woven reeds, sitting upon wooden floating islands. And because of that, they moved around the swamps, never staying in one set location. Even the Lord’s home was also non-stationary!

In fact, because they move around, there were no trained ravens that could locate them. When Sansa learnt this she had sprinted off to find Maester Luwin, desperate to know of how to reach her betrothed and what had happened to her letter. She was practically besides herself with tears building in her eyes when she found him.

He, thankfully, eased her worries. There was a specific outpost, just on the edge of the swamps, where ravens take their letters. From there, Crannogmen would collect them and deliver the letters to their recipient. She breathed a sigh of relief, wiping away her tears.

About three weeks after she sent her letter, she got a reply. They were eating breakfast, her family gathered together and discussing the day’s plans, when Maester Luwin came in to deliver her letter.

When she saw him entering the room, scroll in hand, Sansa jumped up from her seat. Uncaring of the way the cutlery rattled, barely hearing her mother’s protests of her unladylike behaviour, she ran over to the older man.

“Is it for me?” She was practically jumping in place when, after the Maester got her father’s approval, she was handed the paper. Body vibrating in excitement, she broke the seal, and unrolled the scroll with fumbling hands.

Standing in the middle of the room, ignoring the stares from her family, she read over the letter.

_To Lady Sansa of House Stark,_

_I will admit I was surprised to receive your letter, having not expected such a quick response after our Fathers decision. I’m happy to know that you are interested in my home, as it’s very different from most places in Westeros..._

From there Jojen went on to explain what she had already learnt in her books, but in more personal detail, coming from a first hand account. And besides the landscape, he talked about lifestyle, for example, the food they ate. She managed to hold back the urge to pull a face at learning they ate frogs and snakes.

And he seemed to have expected that response, as he wrote that agriculture was limited to small areas of stable land that existed in the swamps, and you had to learn the survive off what was given by the land naturally. She couldn’t fault him and his people for doing so, knowing that some of the meals up North could also turn up visitor’s noses too.

Sansa was determined to keep an open mind for her future marriage, wanting to make the best of it, and secretly found the thought of moving houses and the creatures of the swamps to be an exciting adventure to look forward to.

In her room, in a tiny lock box, she kept all the letters that slowly accumulated over time. At one point she had asked about how they dealt with mud, if it was like how they dealt with snow: Using animal skins to keep out the cold.

He had replied with saying that they did use the animal skin of those that they hunted, but for the majority of the time, they had learnt to just get used to a small layer of mud on their clothes.

That seemed to be the main problem that Sansa had with moving there, that all her pretty dresses would not work well in the elements. She didn’t want to ruin such pretty colours with mud. Lamenting that to Jeyne, the girl nodded in sympathy, and suggested making a new wardrobe for when she moves there.

“But it won’t be for many years, so don’t worry Sansa! You can still wear many pretty dresses for awhile.”

Sansa had laughed and agreed. She had realised that with all this studying, she was acting like her departure was any day, instead of when she was sixteen.

But with that knowledge that she would have to get used to being covered in mud, determination filled her as she stared out at the raining sky. It hadn’t snowed recently, so instead of slush, the ground would be covered with mud and murky puddles.

Lacing her boots tightly, and tying hair back equally tightly in a braid, she marched out into the cold rain, and began to run about in the mud with intent. At eleven, it is now completely unbecoming of a girl of such status to be acting like this, but after she got used to the squelching sensation of wet feet in boots, it became _fun_.

Laughter was coming out of her freely and without any regard to decorum as she stomped in puddles and splashed them about. Twirling from puddle to puddle, head tossed up to the pouring sky, she felt an unbridled joy.

Her breaths were pants, seeing it come out cloudy in the cold air, and spent a few minutes of breathing into the cold weather, marvelling at the way her breath looked in the downpour.

“ _Sansa Stark! What in the name of the Seven do you think you are doing!?_ ”

Her mother’s angered voice had Sansa whipping around, wet hair clinging to her pale skin, and felt dread pool low in her stomach at the furious expression on her mother’s face.

Lip wobbling, the joy from before quickly fizzled out as she walked with resignation to her, and bowed her head in shame. Her mother continued her reprimand, hand held tight over Sansa’s small wrist as she was dragged to get washed, body beginning to tremble from both the cold and from her mother’s anger.

Water and mud trailed behind Sansa, and the girl felt regret, knowing that the servants would have to clean it all up. Her mother’s ranting became white noise as she was stripped and practically dumped into a hot bath. Curling her knees up to her chest, she felt warm tears slowly slide down her cheeks.

Finally winding down from her tirade, her mother tsked, “Sansa, why are you crying? You know this was unbecoming behaviour.”

But she just silently turned away from the older woman, feeling shame in her tears, and not wanting her mother to see them. There was a sigh of disappointment from behind her, but Sansa continued to keep her head ducked away as her mother began to wash her hair.

It felt unfair how much trouble she got into for doing something that was important! It was important for Sansa to adapt to her future husband’s home. That was what she was taught, so why didn’t her mother understand that? Didn’t she have to do the same when she came North?

And further more, she wasn’t even that dirty in comparison to some of the messes Arya and Bran had gotten into. Why was she the one so severely told off?

All these questions and thoughts stewed in her mind, but Sansa bit her lip to keep herself quiet. She doesn’t feel like her mother would understand her reasonings. But maybe her father would.

So, mumbled into her knees, she said, “I want to talk to father.”

That had her mother pausing in the midst of cleaning Sansa’s hair. “If you think your father will let you off lightly for making such a mess-“

Her head whipped around to glare angrily through her tears, and yelled, “ _I want to talk to him, mother!_ ”

Blue eyes blinked in shock, and even Sansa was surprised by the way she had raised her voice, having never done that to her mother before. But it seemed that it, and the stubborn set of her jaw, had convinced her mother, as she set down the brush and left Sansa curled up in the warm water.

Sansa set to finishing up her bath herself, drying quickly and pulling on a thick nightgown and robe, wanting to keep warm. Then, sitting in front of the fire place, watching the flames dance, she waited for her father. Her hair dripped little puddles of water behind her, cheeks slowly warming in the fire’s heat.

He came not too soon after, quietly stepping into the room, door closing with a soft clank of metal. He moved near silently towards Sansa, until he too was sitting in front of the fireplace next to her, and she felt herself gravitating towards his large, comforting form.

Leaning against him, her father shuffled around a bit until his arm was holding her close to his side. They continued to sit in silence, before Sansa finally spoke.

“Jojen said that they grow used to their clothes and skin being covered in mud. So I wanted to become used to it for when I move there.” It came out as a whisper and she braced herself for him to scold her, tell how foolish she was behaving.

Instead he hummed thoughtfully, “I see. Why did you not tell your mother this?”

Shrugging sluggishly, Sansa muttered with bitterness, “Because she wouldn’t think it was ladylike.”

“Sansa...” He trailed off, sighing, and that set her off, feeling resentful at how no one seemed to understand!

“I always have to be ladylike, but how come _Arya_ doesn’t have to? Why am I always the one that has to fetch Arya for Septa, when that _isn’t my job!_ And then she tells me off when I can’t convince Arya to come, and it’s so frustrating because then so many people are upset with _me_ and I hate it! I _hate_ that I can’t play in the mud and have fun, because it isn’t ladylike! _It’s not fair!_ ” It was with a loud yell, her panting from her rant that had her breaking down.

She was sobbing hard into her knees, heaving breaths wracking her slight frame. Her cries echoed around the silent room, as he father’s arm just held her closer, allowing Sansa to seek comfort in his embrace.

The weight of a kiss pressed to the top of her damp hair, and he spoke lowly with sorrow, “I’m sorry that you’ve had such pressure put on you, Sansa. You are right, it is unfair for us to demand such behaviour from you.”

Sansa sniffled and whispered, “I know Arya is your favourite, cause she is so easy to love. She doesn’t have to do much to gain your love like me.”

He was aghast,“Sansa, how could you say that?”

Looking up, teary eyed, she argued, “But it’s true! She can come to you muddy with handpicked flowers, and you would give her a pat on the head. But _I_ have to perfect my embroidery. _I_ have to keep neat and polite, and even then I barely get any recognition! If I came to you muddy and with flowers, I would get told off!” And she burst once more into tears, hiding her face in her small hands.

“ _Oh Sansa._ ” He murmured with guilt and fully pulled her onto his lap, holding her tightly.

Over her silent cries, he tried to explain himself. “Arya reminds me of my sister, your Aunt Lyanna, that I lost. I guess, I’m lenient with her because I was the same with Lyanna. I never meant to make you feel inadequate nor unloved. You are _so_ loved, Sansa. Please never doubt that. I know that the expectations put on you are much, but-“

“But it’s what is expected of me.” She completed for him with resolute unhappiness, voice muffled in his shoulder. Her skinny arms are wrapped around his neck, hand clenching the collar of his thick tunic. 

“Yes, unfortunately.” He had sighed. But Sansa felt comfort with what he had said. She doesn’t understand what the loss of a sister felt like, but it must hurt him so. Biting her lip, she apologised, “I’m sorry for getting mad and getting muddy.” And she pulled back to look up at him so he knew her sincerity.

Hi large hand came up an cupped her wet cheek, thumb brushing away a tear. His grey eyes shone as he firmly spoke, “I’m proud of you, Sansa.” Wide eyed, she jerked her head back, stunned by his words. He gave her a sad look at such a violent reaction. “I’m sorry for never saying that to you, Sansa. But I _truly_ am. I’m proud for how quickly you’ve decided to learn about Jojen and his home, and how readily you accept their way of life, even when it’s so different from ours. I’m _proud_ that you are reacting so maturely to your betrothal. I know that some ladies would argue against it, but I _am_ proud of _you_. I am proud to know that you will grow up to be an intelligent and compassionate young lady, and that you will do our family proud. I love you, Sansa.”

And he finished that speech was a firm kiss to her temple, and Sansa melted with the relieved knowledge that she was loved by her family, having sometimes doubted it.

After that night, Sansa noticed a subtle shifted with her parents. She had always followed after her mother in her free times, learning how to run a keep. But with the still lingering tension between the two, even after Sansa apologised for her yelling and behaviour, she decided to follow her father instead.

In between her lessons, she would duck into his solar and sit quietly by the fireplace on a stool, sewing or reading. And in doing so, over months, Sansa began to learn a little of running a keep from the Lord’s point of view. There were the dealings with criminals and taxes, though numbers still frustrated Sansa, she silently listened into his conversations with Maester Luwin and Steward Poole.

Sometimes, when he was dealing with the monthly petitions from the smallfolk, she would sit in the hall with him, behind his large chair where no one saw her, still knitting or writing a letter to Jojen, but keeping an ear to his ruling.

It made her think about the Kings of Winter, and a part of her fantasised about being a winter princess, twirling through snow storms. One day, around a year after she started to follow him around, she asked her father, whilst alone in his solar, why he can’t be a Winter King.

“Because we swore allegiance a featly to the Iron Throne when the Targaryens conquered Westeros.”

That answer didn’t feel good enough for her, and pushed further, “Yes, but father, there are no more Targaryens. So why can’t we go back to being our own kingdom? I’ve heard that our way is so different from the South, so why can’t we rule our own land independently?”

He set his quill down and leant forward, a dark serious look in his eyes, “Be careful what you say, Sansa. That could be taken as treason.”

She swallowed dryly, but forged on, steel melting into her spine. “But father, why did you continue with the Iron Throne after Roberts Rebellion? Don’t Westeros not like being made into one kingdom? What about the other Houses in the South?”

“Sansa.” It was a rumbled command, as she snapped her mouth closed, letting him speak. “I can’t not speak for the Southern lords, but the North is content with the ruling powers.”

Staring into those dark eyes, Sansa opened her mouth again, “Are they really, father?” She argued softly.

A heft sigh left his nose as he leant back in his seat, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Sansa, we cannot afford to break away from the Seven Kingdoms. We need the trade with the South for food.”

Having prepared for him to ask that, she leapt forward, “We can make more glass gardens!” Sansa insisted, “Have them in every castle! Make our own food!”

“Why are you so adamant to discuss this, Sansa?” He asked her softly, and Sansa straightened up, fists balling by her side. There was tiredness in the corner of his eyes, but an almost thoughtful, calculating gaze behind the subtle anger at her treason. 

“Because there are no more dragons, father.” Sansa stated solemnly, “We knelt because of the dragons. But they aren’t here anymore.”

He sent her away after that, and Sansa felt frustration curdling in her gut, wondering why he doesn’t understand. Though that last look he casted her way had her hoping that he would take her suggestions. So deep in her mind, she doesn’t notice when she bumped into Theon and Robb.

Stumbling a little, she managed to right herself and scowled up at the tall boys in irritation. Robb smiled, but apologised. However Theon just teased her.

“You looked very much in thought, Sansa. Some frog-eater on your mind?” Robb shoved his elbow into the older boy’s rib, but even he looked a little amused.

Puffing her cheeks in annoyance, she snidely replied, “At least I have someone willing to marry me, unlike you, squid.”

Theon opened his mouth to retort, facing turning a little red, but Robb stepped in, and Sansa watched with satisfaction as her brother chided the other boy. She spun on her heel, wanting to get away from such immaturity, but Theon called after her, “At least I don’t have a muddy dick like your future husband does!”

Robb groaned in disgust, and though Sansa didn’t fully understand what Theon had said, she knew it was an insult and whirled back around, stalking towards the boy who seemed to shrink a little under her advancing form.

Sitting on a chair in the Maester’s office, Sansa nursed bruised knuckles and watched with dark gratification as Maester Luwin dabbed salve none-to-gentle on the growing bruise on Theon’s cheek. Robb stood in the corner, hiding his smiles as Sansa pouted, listening to the dressing down by the elder man.

She knew it was wrong to punch Theon, but if men could fight those that insult their wives, why can’t she hit someone who insulted her betrothed? ‘ _Society is stupid._ ’ She grumbled to herself.

When she was nearly thirteen, her father announced to the family that many of the Northern lords would be coming to feast in Winterfell to celebrate the official betrothal of Sansa and Jojen. Said girl was beaming with excitement, ready to meet her betrothed face to face. No matter what Arya sometimes teased about Jojen being ugly and frog like, Sansa ignored her, knowing that the small sketch sent to her by Jojen was done in his likeness.

They had swapped portraits when she was eleven, curious at what he looked like. He ended up having a talented artist from his people draw him, and in return she did the same. The image showed defined jawline and cheek bones, narrowed in a way that made his eyes like doe eyes, all sketched out with dark charcoal. She thought he was very handsome.

Over the years, Sansa continued to sit in her father’s solar, though she slowly shifted back to following her mother around at times too, equally spending time under their teachings. And as she sat on the stool by the fire place, what had become _Her_ place, she gazed thoughtfully at her father.

She had noticed since her talk with him that he was running numbers a lot with his Steward and the Maester. At one point she managed to peek at what looked like granary stores, and wondered if he took some of her words into account.

Being reliant on other Kingdoms could cause a monumental problem for the North if they decided to cut off supplies and trade. Being able to be self-sufficient would be beneficial for their land. As she sewed her feast dress, Sansa thought that maybe something big was coming, as if she could sense it brewing in her bones.

Along with immersing herself in the Crannogmen culture, she also noticed herself shift from worshiping in her mother’s small Sept to sitting beneath the trees in the Godswood. Looking up at the red leaves above her, so similar to her hair, she pondered if The Neck had a Godswood too.

Studying up on the legends of the Marsh King and the Children of the Forest, she felt herself more eager and enthralled by the stories told by Old Nan than ever before. She eagerly requested the Hammer of Waters, wanting to hear that story over and over again. To the point that even Bran was getting tired of it.

The tree branches shifted in a cool winter breeze, and Sansa clutched the feast dress to her chest. It was in the Stark grey colour. With long sleeves, closing tightly around her wrists and fur lined. High collared and falling just before her ankles, she thought it was a very mature dress, dissimilar to the brighter colours she wore more often. But besides the grey, along the hem was direwolves and lizard lions, embroidered in a soft fern green. Subtle, but enough to show her allegiance to both her family and her future husband’s.

She sent a silent pray up to the Old Gods, ‘ _Let this marriage be happy. Please._ ’

The wind blew stronger briefly, enough that some red leaves twirled down around her head. Staring at the fallen nature, she gathered them up and felt an idea occur in her mind for the feast.

Sansa watched on the battlements with her younger siblings as the Northern lords slowly filtered into Winterfell, Robb having to be with their father as they greeted each lord. It wasn’t all of them though, more to come in the next couple of days, but it was still exciting to see this many people in her home.

Her and Arya were making it a competition to see how many of the banners for each house they could name correctly. Sansa was quite impressed with how far her sister’s studies had come along, for she only stumbled once or twice.

Their relationship had improved a little over the years. It seemed that their father had talked to Arya about her behaviour, and had also discussed with Septa Mordane about not sending Sansa to find Arya when it was her job, not his daughter’s.

At first Arya was mutinous about being forced to sit and embroider with Sansa and some of the other girls, but Sansa figured out a truce. Sansa would sit one on one with Arya and slowly coach her through each type of stitch, and would regale her younger sister with how important it was being able to make clothes. Not just to look pretty, but because of how important it was to make good and durable clothes, especially in such a harsh environment.

And wanting to dive in deeper, Sansa found some interesting tales of women on battle fields, sewing up the wounded. Arya quite liked that.

In return for those lessons, Arya managed to cajole Sansa into learning how to use a bow. When she had turned down the lessons, Arya slyly said that being able to hunt and forage for your food was what all the Crannogmen, including their women, did. So Sansa conceded begrudgingly to Arya’s true statement, and allowed herself to be tugged to the archery range.

It wasn’t so bad. Her arms and shoulders ached, building up muscle slowly that wasn’t really there before hand. And the callouses wasn’t unusual, already having some from sewing. But there was a certain kind of self-pride in working long hours to hit a target, and listening to Arya cheer in approval.

That was also something new between the two. They shifted from name calling, to slowly offering praises. Sansa finally noticed the way Arya would stare at her in envy whenever she was praised for her ladylike skills, and thought maybe she wasn’t the only one jealous of the other. With that in mind, Sansa began to compliment Arya whenever she did something correctly, like her dance form, or a well-done embroidered leaf.

She even found herself sheepishly going to Arya, asking for help in numbers, as her sister was practically a genius with them.

And in return, Arya began to do the same. From begrudging compliments on her harp playing, to loud, boisterous cheers when her arrow met the bullseye for the first time.

She was content and pleased with how their relationship had changed for the better, glad that they could be real sisters with one another.

During the three years her and Jojen were sending letters, his elder sister, Meera, had only sent one. It was long and held an underlining threat about treating her brother well. In it, it described from her perspective of what Jojen was like. ‘ _Solemn, many have said he was like an old man in the body of a child. But That does not mean he can not be arrogant and annoying like most brothers are._ ’

But solemn was the right word to describe her betrothed, as Sansa stood across from him and his father. She was tall for her age, still growing too in fact. But he was tall as well, just reaching over her height.

Dirty blonde, slightly curling hair, and bright green eyes, Sansa found that the artist depicted him well, and all she needed was colour to add to his features.

With a welcoming smile, she curtsied when her father introduced her, and noticed how Jojen only ever so slightly quirked his lips before bowing in return. His sister, who was back in Greywater Watch, was correct in his demeanour. He was awfully quiet, gazing around Winterfell with studious interest as they walked through the halls.

That had her asking him, “Would you like me to give you a tour?”

His bright green eyes locked onto her’s and he gave a nod in return. “I would like that.”


	2. Part 2: books and crowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The betrothed meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you commenter and LadyHallen for mentioning that not only did I forget about Jon, I also did not have him in the tags. But to be fair, I was just adding characters that were mentioned in the chapter. But hey. jon gets a cameo!

Walking through the warmed halls of the Keep, Sansa showed Jojen a more personal tour than what guests would usually have. She showed him her favourite hiding spots, and places where fond memories took place. He listened intently to all her stories of her and her siblings, boredom never to be found on his face.

From there she brought him to the kitchens, where she snagged a loaf of warm bread and a large chunk of cheese. It was past mid day already, and after he had been travelling for so long, Sansa imagined him to be hungry and tired. When she offered to show him his rooms so he may rest, he declined. So, Sansa continued on happily. They munched on the food, passing the loaf back and forth between their hands, as they continued to move on. Leading him out into the cold air, she noticed the way he shivered and grinned up at him.

“Not used to the cold so much?”

He huffed and muttered, “The Neck is warmer, humid in the swamps.” Though his tone was irritable, he gave her a smile of gratitude when she offered to move back inside, to which he declined.

But seeing how the temperature was affecting him, she led him to the glass gardens, stepping into the warm constructs. He looked impressed by the North’s innovation, hands trailing along plants and gazing up at the vaulted glass walls and ceiling. She pondered if he had ever seen such a building. His wide green eyes took in everything around them and Sansa found the open wonder on his features to be a lovely look on him.

After he casted a curious look at one of the plants, Witch Hazel, Sansa piped up, “Are there any plants here you have never seen before?”

He nodded, peering closer at the Witch Hazel, and responded, “Quite a few. We mainly have tall trees that sometimes block out the sunlight, depending on how thick and dense that part of the swamp is. The smaller plants are around and abundant, it’s just trying to find them that’s the problem at times.”

Sansa hummed in interest, and he took that as a sign to continue, going into depth about some plants that were poisonous and how they used them on their weapons.

As he talked, they moved on from the gardens and she took him to one last place. Upon entering the Godswood, she noticed how he quietened, looking up at the tress with a soft reverence. Smiling to herself, she trailed ahead of him, to the middle of the wood. His foot steps were hunter light, not a single branch cracking with his movements. Suitably impressed, Sansa made a note to herself to ask her father if she could be taught to walk that lightly through a forest. If not, maybe Jojen could teach her in the future.

Standing before the Weirwood tree, they let themselves sink into the silence that came with nature. Only the rustling leaves filled the air, and Sansa could almost imagine what it would look like the night they married in front of the smiling tree. She breathed in the familiar clean scent of snow and nature, and did not startle when Jojen softly asked, 

“How do you truly feel about our betrothal?”

Sansa thought it was clever of him to ask so in the Godswood, as you can not lie. To try and open your mouth to do so would have instead the truth tumbling out. But she didn’t even try to resist, and gave a tiny smile up at him.

“When I first found out I was quite excited. I guess as a little girl, when all you’ve dreamt about was marriage and love, you would be happy to find that out. When Father explained about you the first thing I asked was if you were a nice boy.” Sansa let out a giggle, “And then I asked if you were a gallant knight.”

Jojen smiled in amusement at that, and Sansa let herself wonder about what he would look like if it was a bigger, more care-free smile. Solemn was a trait she could work with, having been surrounded by many solemn men. But a part of her wanted to get him to be more open with his emotions.

Striding closer to the tree, she sat on the bench below it and looked up at her betrothed, dressed in dark greens and blacks, he stood out against the white and red environment.

Her mind going into her memories, she let a fond expression creep over her face.

“I immediately sent you a raven. The day I found out. I wanted to learn everything there was about you, about your home. In lessons, I am taught to immerse myself into my future husband’s life, to adapt and become what he would like. Reading scrolls and books, anything that I could get my hands on.” She paused, and he came closer, sitting besides her under the tree. Once settled, Sansa continued,“ Though I found some of your cultural habits to be...interesting?” She offered, and caught a small smile on Jojen’s face. Her stomach warmed. “I was happy to embrace it all.” Sansa finished.

However, it felt like there was more for her to say, something subconscious wanting to come forth. So she let the confession spill out unaltered. “But, I will admit, that I enjoy finery. I was raised to be married to a Southern lord. I remember once hearing my parents talking about marrying me to the crown prince. Stories and songs about love will always be my favourite, and maybe a part of me is disappointed I won’t be living in a Southern court, wearing lovely dresses.“ She let out a soft sigh. Not necessarily upset with that dream not coming true, just more in reminiscent. Quietly, she forged on, “The reality is, is that life doesn’t always go how you want it. And I find that the next step in my life, marrying you, living in The Neck, to be a new adventure. And I can not wait to start it.”

Turning to fully face him, Sansa smiled, happy with her answer, but felt it drop as he spoke with a disheartened tone, looking forward and away from her. “I’m sorry that my home isn’t how you hoped for, but I am grateful that you are determined to live well there.”

Panic filled Sansa’s stomach, cold, not from the temperature, flooded her body. Shifting closer, she babbled, needing to take away that disappointment she had caused him. “It is of no fault on your part! As I’ve said, life isn’t always how you expect it. I’ve grown since I was ten, though I still have more growing to do. I’ve learnt that sometimes to more beautiful things in life are the more natural and simpler. I’ve come to really adore the descriptions of your home.” Earnest and honest, Sansa willed him to look at her so that he could see her sincerity. 

Thankfully, he did, and tension that she didn’t notice before, seeped from his shoulders. Silently, Sansa breathed a sigh of relief that she had successfully cleared up that miscommunication. When he next spoke, there was that age old heaviness that his sister had spoke about, carried in his voice and words.

“I have greensight, visions. There are a few among the Crannogmen that have this ability. I nearly died of greywater fever, but an Old God must have felt kind, for when I awoke, I was healed and I began to see visions not too long after.

Wide eyed, she stared as he finished with a pointed glance, “One of my visions was you.”

“Me?” it was blurted out with disbelief, and he nodded seriously.

“A little red bird, that was flying around, heading south. It flew from snowy lands to a swamp, falling into the water. From there, it reemerged, but as a wolf.”

Sansa looked ahead thoughtfully, away from the weight of those green eyes, thinking over this vision. ‘ _Why was I a bird?_ ’ She wondered, and turned back to Jojen to ask that.

He looked at her contemplatively before replying, “I believe it had something to do with you, and our betrothal. You wanted to head South, and in a way you did. The bird falling into the swamp. You being married to me.” Sansa nodded, understanding that symbolism. “As for you being a bird and becoming a wolf...” He trailed off and shrugged. “I feel that is something you must learn for yourself.”

A thought then occurred to her, and she asked with no condemnation in her words, “Did you agree to our betrothal because of a vision?”

He hummed and cocked his head to the side and considered her words. “Yes and no.” He answered. “I know you can not stop whatever may come in the future, and felt that following my vision was the correct path. But, I also agreed because of our fathers bond. Lord Stark is a good man, and I believed he would raise a good daughter.”

Sansa laughed a soft breath of amusement, and at his curious look, she grinned, “Father said the same about you and Lord Reed.” 

When Sansa brought him to his room come early evening, Jojen had many thoughts swirling in his mind. Sitting on his bed in, he clasped his hand in front of his mouth, mulling over their conversation in the Godswood. Like in the letters, she had an honest way with her words, and Jojen was relieved to know that the personality of the girl that bled through the ink, was the same as the girl he had met today.

He wasn’t surprised to learn that she liked finer things in life, evident from her clothes and manners, she was the perfect Southern daughter grown in the wild North. But he was delightfully taken with how she seemed ready to change for him and his home, though he wouldn’t ask her to go to such extreme lengths.

There was a certain mentality needed to live in the Neck, a strong sense of survival and wariness to exist in the swamps. Mainly deadly animals lived in the waters that surrounded their homes, plants and animals both poisonous and venomous, that you had to take care in distinguishing which was safe to eat and which would kill you.

It was with that in mind that Jojen had brought a few books that he had written over time on the wildlife of The Neck, hoping that it would help her prepare further. He wanted to help her learn to live in his home, but he would never ask her to change everything about herself.

He found it almost charming that she was diligent in her appearance, wanting to make a good impression, and amused himself with the idea of her being the best dressed person in the swampy lands. They weren’t the richest people in the land, not much need for money unless travelling out. All they needed was provided well within their lands. Only thing mainly needed was clothing and some food that they traded for. Other than that, they were a very secluded society.

A knock at his door startled him out of his thoughts, and looked up as his father stepped in. The older man rose an eyebrow in question and pointed out, “That is a very deep thinking face, my son. Am I right in assuming that Lady Sansa is on your mind?”

He rubbed at his mouth, “You are correct.”

“And?”

At the raised brow of amusement, Jojen huffed and conceded to his not so subtle interrogation, “She is, kind. Welcoming. I found her to be quite intelligent.” Jojen struggled to find the right words that encompassed the girl he had met and grown to know through letters.

His father hummed and leant against the closed door. “And do you think she will do well in our home?”

And that was the crux of the matter. If she did not do well in The Neck, it could potentially lead to disaster with the Starks, especially if she died by some misfortune with the wildlife. But Jojen was confident in her abilities and nodded to his father.

“She has studied hard on our home, and will continue to do so. I think when the time comes, she will be ready.”

The older man nodded in approval, “That is good. I’m proud with how well you’ve taken with this decision.” Jojen felt warmed at his father acknowledgement and ducked down, hiding his smile, as his father continued to speak. “I know that betrothals are not a norm in our culture, but this was a good opportunity. And Lord Stark has been constantly trying to repay me back for whatever he felt needed repayment. This did not seem to be the worst decision.”

He worried hands hands as he murmured lowly, “I am still worried about the future of the North, what with my visions...”

As he trailed off, his father nodded in understanding, stopping him from speaking further. Though there are no spies in the swamps, there could definitely be some in the North. It was best to not speak any further. “I understand your concern, and you know that this feast is not just about your betrothal.” At his pointed look, Jojen nodded once more. ‘ _It was a good cover._ ’ Jojen mused. The betrothal of the eldest daughter of the liege lord of the North would call for such ceremony, even despite how many of the Northerns hated such pageantry. But it was a perfect excuse for Lord Stark to call all the Lords and Ladies together and discuss the future of the North.

When he told Sansa of his vision, he was truthful that it was up to her interpretation of the bird and the wolf. But he knew that their betrothal had set the future on a course that many would not expect. All because a little girl reached out to learn more in depth knowledge on her land and history. And that in turn had her questioning their current way of life and fealty to a Southern crown.

She was headed on a path of change. From a bird, pretty and fragile, to a wolf, deadly but no less beautiful. Jojen flopped back onto the bed with a groan, and ignored his father’s amused expression.

Jojen would be a fool to lie and say he hadn’t become smitten with Sansa over the years through their letters. And now face to face with what many said was to be one of the most beautiful ladies of the North in the future, Jojen could feel almost inadequate to be gaining her hand in marriage.

He hoped she never realised how low she was falling in marrying a simple Crannogman, no matter his status as a Lord.

Intelligence was what he always wanted in a future wife, knowing he would have to continue on his family bloodline, but looking at Sansa in her dress for the feast, he would be an idiot to say her beauty doesn’t count towards his growing like for her person.

In a soft grey, nearly white, dress, she shone with such gentle simplicity. And spotting their family sigils chasing one another on her skirt, a warm sensation filled his chest. To add to the beautiful image she was already creating, she had a small crown of weirwood leaves woven together, blending in with her bright red hair.

She was a walking heart tree, and Jojen could feel that reverence from the Godswood earlier begin to reemerge in his mind.

Dressed in his dark, mossy colours, he felt self-conscious standing in her beauty. That was until he caught the expression on her face. Sansa looked at him with such pure happiness, that for a moment, all inadequacy faded away.

When she looked over at Jojen, as they were waiting to make their entrance together, Sansa liked how handsome he was dressed in such simple finery. To know that a person who valued practicality over looks had dressed in the best clothes he had for this occasion had her beaming in joy.

She knows that not everyone enjoyed such fancy things, like her sister, so she took in this rarity and admitted to herself that she was quite lucky to have a good looking betrothed. He was dressed once more in dark greens, the muted colours bringing out the blonde in his hair. Though it wasn’t the golden locks she dreamed to see upon her future husband, she loved it all nonetheless.

His simplicity in clothing couldn’t distract her from how handsome his face was to her, and she did not care if anyone thought differently. This was her future, not theirs. And if she was the only one who saw beauty in Jojen, then she was quite alright with that.

As they sat next to one another at the head table, the Great Hall filled with laughter and talk, Sansa quietly listened to Jojen describe the food of his home food to Bran and Arya, having already learnt about their meals already.

There was a disgusted fascination on Arya’s face as Jojen explained how they ate snakes and frogs, and Sansa was amused by it all. Especially when he saw Sansa eagerly pull a plate of haggis towards herself, and scrunched his nose up at the contents of it when she told him.

But watching as he tried the small slice she laid on his plate in suggested offering, Sansa felt that fondness from before grow once more. If they kept this open curiosity with one another’s life style in their future, they would have a good marriage.

At one point, he gently nudged her arm and she turned to him questioningly. Jojen nodded to somewhere on the lower tables, and following his gaze, she was met with the image of Jon and Theon talking with one another. “If that your half-brother?”

Sansa nodded, “Yes, Jon.” She added, and turned back to Jojen as he questioned, 

“Do you talk with him much?”

Not expecting such a questioned, she fumbled with her words, “I-no. I don’t.” Looking down at her food, she admitted quietly, “I’m ashamed to say that at times I’ve dismissed him. My mother does not like him, and hates when we interact with him. The rest of my siblings still do, but I find myself listening to my mother in that regard.”

There was no judgement on his face as he cocked his head to the side, “How come?”

Mulling that question over, Sansa answered slowly, “At first, it was because I look up to my mother, and was happy to listen to everything she said because it brought me praise. And then my mother and I had a falling out, and to not make it any worse, I still kept a distance. And now, it’s almost a habit to not talk with him. I find I don’t have many similarities with him to talk about, that is more of Arya’s expertise. They get along very well.” And Sansa was happy that her sibling adored Jon in a way she never could, glad he wasn’t so alone.

Glancing up at his still expression, not knowing what he was thinking, Sansa guessed, looking back down with guilt. “You must think badly of me now.”

Jojen shook his head in disagreement though. “Not really. It is good that you are not hateful of him simply because of his status as a bastard. I can understand that you were raised with similar opinions as your mother, but not the same hatred, so you avoided him but did not actively seek him out to do harm. People are people, is how I feel. No matter their status in life.” 

Gratitude filled her, knowing she was fortunate to have such an understanding betrothal, one that did not harshly judge her for past mistakes and current misunderstandings.

She wanted to take his hand in her’s, to hold it and show her appreciation. Instead she smiled, because Sansa has found that they come easy with him. “Thank you, Jojen. I do not dislike him because of his birth status, but because how he is a topic of dissent between my parents. The main problem in their marriage. I know it is not his fault, but in some ways...” She trailed off, and Jojen nodded in understanding.

“It’s good that you are aware of that, and not mindlessly hating him.” Sansa tried not to show how that sliver of admiration had her nearly puffing up with pride.

Instead she firmly, “He is my brother, half or not. He is family. And family takes care of one another.” He nodded back in agreement and went to eating and observing the people in the hall again.

Soon enough the main feasting was finished and music began to play. Northern jigs had many up and stomping their feet to the rhythm. Sansa watched, delighted by such festivities, having only seen one big feast in her life and that was when she was very small. She couldn’t remember much of that time, so she took this all in like it was the first for her.

Clapping along to the beat, Sansa leant into Robb on her other side, “Dance with me?” She knew that he secretly loved to dance, despite what he may say, and her brother was more than happy to oblige, pulling her out of her seat and lead her to an open floor space.

This jig consisted of a lot of turns and heavy foot work, and Sansa worked up a sweat, as she usually would with such a dance. Laughing as Robb spun her around, they hooked elbows and continued to circle one another as her brother leant in and whispered, “Your bog-boy seems to be watching.”

Before she could stop herself, her head swivelled around over her shoulder, and managed to catch a glimpse of Jojen resting his chin on his hand, green eyes dancing with amusement, before Robb spun her away.

“Don’t call him that.” She chided him, as a pleased flush rode up her cheeks, and Robb gave her a careless grin in return. Him and Theon would tease her about Jojen and his people, which she thought was very rude, and was quite vicious in reminding them. Of course she never punched them again like she did that one time, but her tongue seemed to have sharpened when in the defence of her future husband. But Robb more often than not said it all in good humour, Theon, not so much.

Sansa knew what people said of the Crannogmen, and could not help how her hackles rose in annoyance and frustration. Their culture was so inventive and inspiring, especially the tactics they used in battles, according to Jojen. Sansa felt very honoured to be able to learn about their ways in which many do not.

So, if she happened to get Arya on board with pranking the boys after hearing such horrible words, making their morning miserable with burnt food and putting sheep shift in their mattresses, that was the consequences they had to deal with for being so rude.

After their dance ended, Sansa went back to her seat, politely declining other offers by pleading rest. Sitting back next to Jojen, she took a sip of her water, and felt the way the hair on her skin rose when he leant in close to murmur, “You danced very well, Sansa.”

Turning to look at him, she noted with another flush that their faces were quite close, and mourned when he leant away again. Licking her lips, she asked, wondering why her nerves felt alight, “Do you dance?”

He offered a shrug, “Some dances, though not many of the ones you know. We don’t do much celebrating, so dancing isn’t a norm. But there are some dances taught to the lords and ladies of course.”

Humming, she pondered out loud,“Is there any that I would know?”

He side-eyed her slyly, “Are you asking me to dance, my lady?”

Tilting her chin up, she asked loftily, “And if I was, my lord?”

He ducked his head down, to hide that fleeting smile she wished he would show fully, before sliding back his chair. Once standing, he offered his hand as the song came to an end, and new one about to begin.

‘ _This would be the first time we touch_.’ Sansa thought in a flustered daze. When he escorted her in, her hand tucked into his elbow, they had his layers of clothes in between one another. But as her bare hand touched his, she marvelled at the calluses upon his skin, and at how surprisingly warm he was despite not being used to the cold.

Maybe it was childish to think, but it felt right to hold his hand.

The dance was a bit more slower, though the music still demanded for quick steps and turns. Jojen was very light on his feet, and she wondered if that was due to his experience as a hunter. As he spun her around, Sansa could barely take her eyes off his, the bright green so captivating under the candlelight.

At one point, he leant in once more and said, “You look very nice, Sansa.” And going by the subtle red high on his cheeks, she figured he was quite embarrassed to say so.

She found it interesting how different the two main personalities were in him. He was serious, and looked at the world with this ancient assessment in his eyes. But at the same time, he was just two years older than her, and was an awkward and shy boy. Sansa thought that she would grow to love both those sides of him.

The next day consisted of her following her mother around and helping out with all the tasks necessary to keeping Winterfell running well under all the guests. She only managed to briefly see Jojen that morning, when he stopped by her room to hand over a pair of books.

They were bound unprofessionally, but still sturdy enough and keeping all the pages together. When she opened up one, Sansa ran her fingers across the ink drawings of plants, and stared in amazement at the fact that she recognised the hand writing.

Practically gaping, Sansa blurted out, “You made this?!”

His pleased expression held a similar flush to last night, and Sansa had thanked him with a fleeting kiss on those red cheeks.

Recalling the memory as she help mother look over the food storage accounts, she found herself startled when a hand grasped her wrist and pulled her away from the group of cooks that her mother was talking to.

Gasping, Sansa whirled around and her surprise fell into a mock-glare at the sight of her cheeky sister. “Come on, Sansa.” She whispered, “Archery practise.”

The older girl opened her mouth to argue why now was not the time, but Arya steamrolled her protests, “ _Jojen would be impressed_.” She sung out, and Sansa allowed herself to be dragged to the archery range.

Okay, so maybe she would like to show off a little. Show that she wasn’t just good at being a lady, but could help provide food and protection if need be as well.

Standing in the fenced off area, Sansa tested the string to make sure it was taut enough before grabbing an arrow. With Arya perched on the fence behind her, Sansa took her stance and drew back the arrow with practised ease.

Breathing in, she aimed, and then exhaled, releasing the arrow. It flew straight and hit just the outside of the centre. Still, Sansa was pleased with her aim, and picked up another arrow. Behind her, Arya called out a few suggestions as she practised, enjoying the repetitive motions.

Soon enough she had to walk up to the target and pull out all her arrows, having to tug a bit harder on the few that were in deep. Turning around to head back, she spotted Jojen talking with Arya, and felt a flush climb up her cheeks.

Coming closer, Sansa picked up on their conversation of different hunting weapons, Jojen seemingly more proficient with a trident.

“...My sister prefers archery and using an axe. But I’m better at her using a trident, mainly for hunting purposes like fish.”

“Have you never been in a battle?” Arya questioned, thirsty for knowledge.

“Crannogmen don’t fight on battle fields, thats not where are talents lie. Keeping to our swamps, we prefer picking the enemy off and luring them into the denser parts to get them hopelessly lost. We also use poisons.” Jojen tacked on at the end.

“Isn’t that dishonourable?” There was no derision in her voice, only open curiosity, which Jojen happily fed.

“There isn’t much honour in fighting. At least, that’s my view.”

Here they looked up at her as she came closer, and Jojen nodded, a little smile on his lips. “You are very good, Sansa. Your sister told me you’ve only been practising for nearly a year. Meera would be happy to continue lessons when you come down.”

A little flushed from her practise, and maybe from the pleasure of his compliment, she curtsied the best she could with her hands full. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say. You must see Arya use the bow, she is more skilled than I.” And at that, she handed said bow over to her sister, who eagerly began to practise.

Their mother wasn’t too happy with them performing ‘ _unladylike_ ’ skills, but their father managed to get her to come around to it. After all, it was helping to ease the sisters relationship, and Arya helpfully. Stated to their mother that, ‘ _The Mormonts can fight, and they’re all girls. Why can’t I?’_

After Sansa got used to all the aching muscles and fingers, she grew to enjoy the eye for detail it took to find your target. They had recently moved onto practising in the woods not too far off Winterfell, with a group of guards to keep them safe.

Lately, Arya has been talking about practising on a horse. Whilst moving. Sansa wasn’t too sure about that, but seeing the enthusiasm shining in her little sister’s eyes, she couldn’t say no. Maybe, in return, Sansa could finally get Arya to make her own dress, as she has come very far in her embroidery and sewing.

Leaning up against the fence, with Jojen next to her on the other side, Sansa felt contentment, just enjoying the silent peace around them. Sure there were people moving about, it was Winterfell, it was always busy. But it was as if they were in their own little bubble, watching Arya practise.

“You get along with your sister.” He had stated after a moment of silence, and Sansa had to laugh a little at the irony.

“We haven’t always. Used to always be arguing about something or other. Drove our family mad. Father said we were like the moon and sun, so different from one another. She wanted to be able to do the things boys got to, and I enjoyed my lessons in being a lady. We managed to come to a truce though, around the same time I learnt archery.”

“She taught you.” Jojen observed with interest.

Sansa nodded, looking at him and proudly stating, “And I’m teaching her to get better at embroidery and sewing. It’s a good pay off. We learn new skills, and slowly see that though there are a lot of differences, we are still quite similar in our stubbornness and dreams of different lives.”

His brow furrowed, “Different lives?”

With a soft sigh she turned away, watching the pure joy in her sister’s face as she fired arrow after arrow. “She wants to be a knight. She won’t, father would never allow it to go that far. But I spoke to him, about her being fostered under the Mormonts. She would do well there, and maybe learn that being a little ladylike isn’t that bad.” Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she admitted softly, “And I wanted to go to Kings Landing and marry the prince.” Then amended that confession, “Or, at least, I wanted to marry a Southern lord and live surrounded by rich things. But I’ve learnt that there is more to life than materialistic things and handsome men.”

Then with a nod of resolute determination, Sansa states, “And I’m happy with the direction my life has taken me.”

She then smiled over at him, sincere and bright. He stared at her with those piercing green eyes, as if looking into her soul, before returning her smile. “Your opened mindedness still catches me off guard, even after all this time.”

Cocking her head in confusion, he huffed out a soft laugh and elaborated, “You must know of all the things they say about me and my people. They view us as primitive and barbaric, not seeing that we have to be at time to survive our environment.”

Leaning his chin on his hand, he looked at her with a subtle fondness, “Sansa. I was afraid of how you would react to living in The Neck, would turn your nose up to everything and demand more than I could give you. But you were just, so, _eager_. To learn and adapt.”

Flushing, she looked away as he continued with such kind and understanding words, “I don’t want you to fully change yourself. I want you to be able to continue to enjoy nice things.”

There was a pause where Sansa thought his words over before she spoke again. “I have to find a middle ground.” She stated firmly, and Jojen nodded earnestly.

“And you have! That’s what makes you so wondrous, Sansa.” He was the most open she had ever seen when he spoke those words, and Sansa was stunned, having not expected it. She was scarce of words, unable to find the appropriate things to say in return. So, Sansa did what she thought would be the best reply. She threw her arms around his shoulders and embraced him in gratitude.

It was seen as improper to do so, but Sansa did not care. With the wooden fence digging into their stomachs it was a little uncomfortable. But the closeness was something she sank into, enjoying the fresh earth smell that seemed to be his natural scent. His cheek was cold when it pressed against her ear, but she did not mind, because his arms were strong around her waist and made her feel safe.

Sansa was saddened to see the Reeds go, more particularly Jojen, but she found her future good-father to be a kind man. She had managed to have a few discussions with him, and enjoyed his gentle disposition and talks of obscure historical knowledge.

Seeing them off, Sansa curtsied, as property demanded, but when that was all finished with, she came forward to Jojen with a gift.

Sheepish, she offered in explanation, “It isn’t much, but when I heard that you did not have a Godswood close by to your home, I wanted to give you this.”

It was the crown of weirwood leaves that she wore the night of the feast. She had pressed the leaves before reweaving them together, wanting to keep from from crinkling and falling apart. Jojen reached out, eyes subtly wide as if he was staring at a worldly treasure.

Holding it with gentle hands, Sansa felt herself slowly still at the wide smile that crossed his face, as if sunlight had graced her after a long night of nightmares. “I will cherish this until my last days, Sansa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get you a guy who compares you to the vessel of your gods
> 
> I, am honestly so pumped to explore their way of living in swamps. I’m doing so much goddamn research that I’m sure it will slip into daily conversations. And looking at where the plot is going, I have a feeling it will be longer than three chapters. For fuck sake.
> 
> Also, I have no idea how to write Jojen. I’m trying to make him this quiet, solemn boy that he is, but come on. he’s also like, 15. Hes gotta be a child at times no matter his weird, old man vibe hes got going. So hopefully i do his character justice. And there was a change to his backstory for anyone who caught that. Because the three-eyed raven doesn’t exist, he had no vision of it. So it was the old gods that stepped in instead.
> 
> Also, oooo Ned what secret meetings are you holding???
> 
> Thank you for reading! Until next time


	3. Part 3: problems and preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A time skip to Sansa at 15, and the arrival of the royals.

At fifteen, Sansa liked to think of herself as a very mature young lady. But as she and Arya peered over the window sill at the young man below, and share a mischievous glance with each other, Sansa figured that it wasn’t always completely true.

“ _ARGHHHH_!”

Came the cry below as Theon was covered in freezing cold water. Collapsing in a heap under the window with the now empty bucket rolling at their feet, the two girls fell into a fit of giggles, breathless and hard to breath. Unfortunately, that meant that Theon had enough time to stomp up to their hiding spot.

The door slammed open, and a seething, sopping-wet, Theon stood in the door way. The two girls gasped in surprise, before falling into another fit of laughter at the wet cat look that Theon had.

With an amused huff, Sansa finished changing into a drier set of clothes. As revenge, Theon tackled the two girls into a wet embrace, which Sansa thought was fair enough. Still, it was annoying that she had to re-braid her hair.

In the two years since she had last seen Jojen, they’ve continued to exchange letters. The contents varied from new knowledge on his lands, to random tidbits of personal information. As always, each letter was kept safely in her little lock box, and if she was feeling particularly melancholy, missing him, Sansa would bring the letters out and reread each one.

During those two years, her and her siblings education slowly shifted as well. There were a lot more lessons and lectures on historical battles and tactics, as well as going more in depth into the North’s economy. Once a month, their father would give a problem that was happening currently on their lands. Be it bandits, tax problems, dying crops or other, they would have to find some kind of solution and bring it to their father.

From there he would explain whether their ideas held merit or needed improvement. Sansa doesn’t know about her younger siblings, but since her conversation with their father when she was thirteen, she wondered if maybe he was taking her words into account. By the contemplative and serious look on Robb’s face, she wasn’t the only one to notice.

And Robb seemed to have taken his heir status much more seriously lately. Not just in practising sword fighting, but in following his father to different meetings, shadowing him like she did.

With Arya, she was fostered for a year after the betrothal feast with the Mormonts. Sansa was sad to see her go, but gladdened by the fact that she would get the training that she always wanted. When she returned, Sansa had to marvel at the easy confidence that she carried, no longer feeling the need to act overconfident in her fight to be recognised.

Theon was still Theon, though he too seemed to have mellowed out from his arrogance. Sansa didn’t know what Robb and Jon talked about one evening with him, when Theon received a letter via their father from Balon Greyjoy. But whatever it was, he became almost a shadow of his former self for the good part of a year.

Only recently had he begun to perked up a bit more into his previous self. Though maybe it was from all the pranks that Arya and Sansa pulled in an effort to get him to react.

Bran was currently fostered with the Manderlys, as they were the most southern of the Northerners, and Bran still had dreams of knighthood. Sansa doesn’t think he will be able to get knighthood. Not because he was terrible with a sword, but because knights were a more Southern title, and their father was really shifting them towards more Northern ideals. But maybe the Manderlys could help him find a new path for him.

Rickon was as wild as ever, only nine years of age, and seemed to be growing wilder by the year, much to their mother’s exhaustion. 

Jon had recently left for the Night’s Watch, after a long and serious conversation with her parents. She had no idea what they had talked about, going by the stoney silence and cold shoulder her mother showed their father for a few months. But Jon seemed to have eased after it, a strange far away look in his eyes. When they asked what was talked about, he give solemn shake of his head, unwilling to answer.

Sansa herself had picked up new skills that were necessary for living in The Neck. According to Jojen, they have no servants, seeing as you live as a family unit or alone on the rivers. With that in mind, Sansa found herself learning things that no highborn lady would. Like laundry, cleaning, and cooking.

Jojen said everyone needed to learn how to do those tasks, so Sansa learnt as well. She found cooking to be a challenge, but was proud with the progress she had made. The head cook seemed pleased too when she tried a stew she had made, and Sansa had never felt so accomplished in her life.

It was like when she had hit the bullseye for the first time. She had gained a skill that wasn’t traditional for ladies, but something she still worked hard for anyways, and that wouldn’t take away the fact that she had achieved something outside of her usual skillset.

Cleaning gave her a minor sense of accomplishment, not as big as cooking, but a self-satisfied feeling knowing that her dress was cleaned by her own two hands was still nice to feel.

On top of those new lessons, she had managed to cajole Maester Luwin into teaching her medicine and herbs. He was, of course, reluctant at first, seeing as it was more of a males skill and taught at the Citadel. But Sansa was adamant at learning, even citing that there were many medicine women in The Neck, and Sansa should know this topic as well in case of emergency. After all, wasn’t it better she learnt from a professional instead of experimenting herself?

After her parents gave him the allowance, he sighed, and began to teach her.

Sewing up wounds was not like sewing a dress. But learning how different herbs worked for ailments and making slaves and tinctures was exciting and easy to learn!

However, her personal favourite change that had happened over the two years, were the direwolves. The boys had found an injured and birthing she-wolf, and Robb had managed to stop the rest of the hunters from killing her. When he retold the story, Sansa was very impressed with how Robb had managed to calm the she-wolf down enough to help her.

After the birth, they had carried the pups and the mother to the kennels, where they helped the injured mother. But afterwards, she left them, including her pups, behind. Sometimes, guards on the walls would spot a massive wolf prowling around, but it never attacked any humans.

Meanwhile, each Stark child got a direwolf pup, and Sansa was absolutely in love with her Lady.

Sansa was on her way to her father with Lady at her heel, needing to discuss changes with her dowery, when Maester Luwin came down the corridor to her.

“My lady. You have a letter.”

Perking up, girl hurried over to him, and eagerly took it from his hands, giving a nod in thanks. There was a humoured twinkle in his eye when he left her alone with her letter.

Breaking the seal, she unravelled it and read the contents.

_To Sansa,_

_I regret to say that the dark wings carry dark words. I’ve recently had a vision and it was urgent that you hear it from me. I have also had my father write to yours, as it was important for him to know as well._

_The Hand of the King is dead. And he was murdered. I will leave the information of who out of this letter, as I can not have it in the wrong hands. It would be best if this letter was burnt when you have finished reading._

_Beware the Lannisters, as the King has begun to ride North to have your father as his new Hand. This can not happen, as I fear that if he agreed, your family would be in grave danger. The Lannisters can not be trusted, no matter the lies they have told._

_And Sansa, I remember once you told me of dreaming to marry the prince. I feel foolish to feel such worry and jealousy, knowing you are faithful. But a part of me can not help but feel inadequate compared to what a prince could offer._

_I care deeply for you, Sansa. Please stay safe._

She had to lean against the corridor wall, breathless with the news given, as well as the private words he had spoken at the end. Biting her lip, Sansa felt her eyes sting with tears. She couldn’t be angry with his worries, as it seemed he himself found them foolish even as he wrote them to her. And no one would believe her if she told them that she felt like she would be a useless wife, a burden that drags him down, when she comes to live in his home.

They both have self-conscious thoughts, and Sansa can not fault Jojen for his.

Hands shaking, she looked back down at the letter, feeling Lady nudge her large head into her trembling hand. Smiling down at the direwolf in thanks, she stroked her thick fur as her mind whirled with the main reason for the letter.

The Hand was dead, and her father may be the next one.

Wiping her tears away, she straightened herself up, brushing her skirts back into place and began to continue in the direction of her father’s solar.

Her steps were firm and steady, the brief upset impossible to tell with how collected she became. Knocking on her father’s door, his low call had her opening the door with concern.

His head was in his hands, and they were shaking. She then recalled that Lord Arryn was like a father figure to him, and quietly walked over to him. Taking his hand in her’s she offered him silent support. The large hand gripped her’s hard, and Sansa waited calmly in the heavy quiet.

“Howland has told me who did it.”

Blinking down at his bowed head, Sansa blurted out, “Who?” Unable to stop herself.

When he looked up at her, Ned Stark had such an achingly hurt expression, that Sansa moved forward on instinct. He was still a large man, even after her growth spurt, and her arms felt small as they circled his shoulders. Slumping gratefully into her arms, he did not answer her.

Sansa figured it was best if he didn’t. After Jojen’s warning she has an inkling on who did it, but decided it would a good idea to not ask. Maybe when she finally lived with Jojen, she could ask him then.

They were in that position for a good minute or two, before he slowly pulled away. She took that as a go ahead to speak.

“Jojen told me that the King wishes to make you his Hand.”

Tiredly rubbing at his eyes, he nodded in confirmation.

“Are you?” She had to ask, wondering if all the years of slowly teaching them and really looking into self-supporting their kingdom would all go to waste.

He gave her a weary look, and reminded her, “He is my king, Sansa. I must do my duty to my land and friend.”

Frowning, she pointed out, “You going south would bring ruin to this family. You said it yourself, father. Starks don’t do well in the south.”

“Sansa-“

But she cut him off, disbelief coursing through her blood as she argued back, “No Father! I have seen you remaking the North into it’s own kingdom, and now you will throw it all away for a man who you have not seen in years! _Family_ comes first. Not a King.”

“ _Enough,_ Sansa.” He barked out, but Sansa ignored the warning in his tone and continued to argue against his decision.

“If you go South, you will go alone. You will not bring innocent soldiers who will get caught up in all the mess down there and die for nothing. You will not kill Northern men for your perceived honour.”

He jerked hard out of his seat, and Sansa stumbled back as he towered over her and growled, “Out. _Now_.”

She had never seen such anger upon his face, and decided it would be best not to test his fury. With one last glare, Sansa stalked out of the room, Lady hurrying after her.

The arrows hit the targets every time, Sansa unrelenting in her anger with each release. The fury roaring in her mind was a deadly snowstorm, and her thoughts were consumed with rage as her body worked by habit.

Her father was an _idiot_ for even thinking of going South. He was the one who always told them that it was for the best they didn’t go there. Even Sansa, who once ached for the South so viciously managed to learn to release such a desire. And now he was putting his own feelings before his family and kingdom. She understood that sometimes being selfish was okay, knowing that you need that control in your life when you lacked it due to a large amount of responsibility. But at the _cost_ of your kingdom and _people_!? He was supposed to be the next Winter King, if not Robb, and now he wants to investigate a murder that he already knows who the culprit is!?

“Who are you trying to kill?”

Startled, the arrow goes a bit wide and hits the ground by one of the targets. Whipping around, Sansa sees Arya sitting on the fence, a look of worry plain as day on her face. Biting her lip, trying to ignore the raw pain in her fingers, Sansa comes over and fishes the letter out of her skirt pocket.

She hadn’t the time to burn it, too consumed by her anger. But handing it over the Arya, she needed to know her sister’s view on this entire mess.

Letting her read in peace, the elder girl moved to the targets and began to pull out the arrows. When she returned, a pile of arrows viscously shoved into a quiver, Sansa looked over to her sister.

There was a heavy frown upon her face, and Sansa was momentarily fixated on how similar she looked to their father.

“Do you think you will fall in love with the prince then?”

Bewildered, Sansa fumbled for an answer to that unexpected question. “What?” She said dumbly.

Arya waved the letter, “What Jojen wrote.”

Stumbling over her words she immediately shot down that possibility, “I-No! Of course not! I don’t want to marry some prince-Arya. What do you think of the other stuff written?” She demanded, trying to get Arya back on track to the more important questions.

But Arya just shrugged nonchalantly, “Do you really think father would actually go South?”

At the almost condescending tone in her sister’s voice, Sansa looked away unsure, gripping at her arm as she admitted, “Seems that way.”

Hopping down from the fence, Arya came over and handed the letter back to Sansa, who tucked it back safely into her pocket. With a nudge of her shoulder into Sansa’s upper arm, Arya rolled her eyes, “Have more faith in him, Sansa. He cares about our people. He cares about us. He won’t go.”

The corner of her lip twitched before scowling and muttering lowly, “He better not.”

Peering up at her with curiosity, Arya asked, “Is that where you came from? Were you yelling at him?” She teased, a sly grin creeping up on her face.

Nudging her back, Sansa rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” The anger from before dissipated when faced with Arya’s teasing. Said girl just put her hands on her hips and looked over the bustling training yard. 

Surveying the people, Arya casually said, “It’s kind of funny. You are very much a dutiful daughter, but only we know how much you are very ready to verbally eviscerate anyone who is making a stupid decision.”

Snorting, Sansa began to head back inside, Arya happily following after. “Yeah, well.” Sansa began with derision, “People need to stop being stupid then.”

That evening, Father announced that the King would be arriving in three months. Despite having that time, the castle was in a flurry of preparations. The day after the announcement, Sansa went to her father again, both for her original purpose before the letters, and because she needed to apologise.

Though she doesn’t want to take back the truth in her words, she _knew_ it was harsh to say, especially after the sudden news of him losing someone he cared for dearly and respected, but he needed to hear the truth of the matter. But she needed to apologise anyways.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

Instead of his usual place behind his desk, he was stood facing the fire place, hands tucked neatly by his lower back. In his hands, Sansa spied a crumpled piece of parchment.

“Father...” She began softly, but stopped herself. All the internal practise of what to say faded as he turned to face her.

He had an almost blank expression, and she faltered once more as he stated her name. “Sansa.”

Looking away from those heavy grey eyes, Sansa curtsied low. “I apologies, Lord Father, for my words the other day. It was harsh of me to accuse you so.” The silence was heavy on her shoulders as she stared at the ground, awaiting his judgement. She saw his feet slowly shift to face her as he responded.

“But you do not take them back.” It was not a question. He knew her too well.

Nervously licking her lips, she straightened up and spoke calmly, “I feel I’m still _allowed_ to worry over my family and people, even when I speak out of turn.”

He let out a heavy sigh and beckoned her closer, “I can not fault you for your compassion.”

Wrapping her arms around his middle, her words were muffled as she sincerely apologised. “I am sorry, Father. I know that Lord Arryn meant a lot to you.”

He held her tighter for a split second before releasing her, declaring with firmness, “I do not wish to speak any further on this matter.”

Bowing her head, conceding to his decision, she agreed. “Of course, Father.”

From there, he tossed the piece of parchment in hand into the fire and walked back to his desk, taking a seat. Looking up with steely grey eyes, she knew that he was still on guard and unhappy with her words, even as he asked, “What did you come to see me for, other than to apologise?”

Sitting down neatly in the chair across from him, she said, “My dowery. I wish to change it.” At his raised eyebrow, she began to explain, having thought over this idea in depth. “I want to use some of the money set aside to buy necessary items. Jojen explained to me that normally when a married couple move into their own home, they bring along household supplies, such as dishes and cutlery that have been passed down. I would like to peruse the market to find such things.”

He nodded in thought. “I see.” Taking that as encouragement, she added on, “And I must get some fine wool or silk. They have many mosquitos in The Neck, and they make nets around their beds so they do not get bitten. I would like to hand weave my own, and need the materials.”

Leaning forward on his desk, hands clasped, he reaffirmed, “And you would like to use your dowery?”

Sansa nodded resolutely, “They trade more than buy, so I feel money would either be unused or only to buy supplies outside of The Neck. I would like to provide more than useless currency.”

His dour expression softened, the wrinkles by his eyes crinkling as he gave his approval for her decision. “It’s good of you to think ahead, Sansa. Your request is granted.”

With a grateful smile, pride swelling in her chest, Sansa curtsied and began to leave, knowing that things were still tense between the two, and it would be best to once again leave with antagonising him anymore. As her hand set on the door latch though, her father said, “Do not worry, Sansa. I will do what is best for this family and kingdom.”

Looking over her shoulder at him, Sansa saw the solemness in his expression as he vowed, “I promise.”

It was around a month before the king arrived that Sansa managed to head into Winter town, Arya, Rickon, Theon, and Robb following after. A part of Sansa wished her two other brothers were with them, making it a full family outing, but instead both were gone. But she thought about maybe seeing if she could find something to send them whilst browsing the market. If not, well she was sure they would appreciate a letter. 

It was refreshing to be out of Winterfell, away from all the busy preparations, and instead in the slightly more calm hustle and bustle of the common folk. It was market day, all the wares laid out on their stalls, allowing buyer to peruse easily. Arya and Theon took Rickon off in one direction, with Robb and Sansa trailing in another.

She could feel her older brother’s nervous energy and nudged his arm to get his attention. “Hey, it will be okay.”

He gave her a weak smile in thanks but still argued, “But what if we don’t like one another?”

Lacing her arm through his, Sansa insisted, “I’m sure Lady Wylla will be charmed by you, Robb. Do not worry.” And gave his arm a pat with her other hand. 

There was much talk about Sansa being betrothed before her eldest brother and heir to the North. After much debate, Robb was betrothed to Wylla Manderly. Of course, many houses were unhappy with the way there was favouritism showed to House Manderly, what with Bran being fostered there already. Their father had to find different ways to appease the Northern houses as best as possible.

Rickon would be fostering under the Umbers a year after Sansa was married, and Sansa hoped that did something to ease his wild ways. At least for their mother’s peace of mind.

Squeezing Robb’s arm in comfort, she decided to take his mind off his impending marriage, dragging him over to a stall that held wooden carved bowls and plates. Sansa figured it would be best to go for wood than porcelain or metal, and looked closely at the designs painted on the sides.

She ended up picking a set of cherry wood plates and bowls, that had tiny, hand painted white and blue flowers around the edges. With a smile she handed over the money, and had them packed up and sent to the castle.

Next thing she spied was a set of wooden goblets and a pair of jugs and pitchers. They weren’t the same wood, a darker brown, but they had subtle engravings of vines on their sides and Sansa added that to her purchase.

Robb mainly followed behind, every now and then pointing out things that she may like, and Sansa had a wonderful time strolling through the market. The weather was fairly decent for the North, the sun just shining through the usual overcast clouds.

After adding a quilt and rug, as well as a set of cutlery, the older siblings found the others standing by a music stall. Rickon was ‘ _oo’ing_ over a flute, and Sansa smiled fondly at his open expression of curiosity. Tilting her head in thought, she wondered if he could also have some musical talent in his blood like she has.

Looking over the instruments, Sansa spotted a lyre, and felt an urge to buy it. She loved to play the harp, but knew it would be impractical to bring hers, as it’s very heavy and cumbersome. But a lyre was perfect carrying size, and allowed her to play many of her favourite songs.

Side-eyeing Rickon, she then decided to buy him the flute as well, thinking that maybe she could ask her parents to find a music teacher for him.

Though over the years Jojen and Sansa exchanged knowledge, it wasn’t until the last year before their marriage that Jojen actually broached the topic of newly weds and families in The Neck and their customs. The one tradition that really stuck out to her was that the couple would build their home together.

But seeing as Sansa was not there to do so nor have the necessary skill set, Jojen was building it on his own. She could safely say reading those words, that he was creating a home just for them, was when she really knew she had fallen for this man.

To build a home for them, was better than any romantic gesture she had dreamt or read of as a child. No silks or golden jewellery could compare to that in Sansa’s mind. She couldn’t put the over-encompassing emotions down on paper, so over-whelmed and over-flowing with the love she felt. Instead, she wrote back, ‘ _I will handle the interior. Tell me what we need.’_

It wasn’t enough to say what she felt, so Sansa decided to tell him the day she saw the home. Show him how much she really loved it. And she knew she would love it, even not knowing what it would look like. Jojen knew her well. She trusted him.

After that, he gave her a list of items and talked about how traditionally, the woman would bring inherited houseware into the new home. That she would make the netting around the bed, and create a home out of the house they had made together.

Sighing softly to herself, so in love, that she did not notice when Jeyne and Theon crept into her room. Sansa was facing away from the door way, looking over her purchases and placing them in a large trunk for safe keeping.

She shrieked in surprise when Jeyne tickled her sides, and flailed around. Pouting at their laughter, she let them get it all out before asking with exasperation, “What can I do for you two, this evening?”

Sharing a grin, Theon pulled whatever he was hiding out from behind his back, and Sansa gasped, hands flying to her mouth, at the sight of the bow he offers out to her. Stepping closer, Sansa hesitantly ran her fingertips across the tiny carvings of wolves running across the wood. It was a recurve bow. Sansa was being trained with both long bow and recurve, Arya teaching her the recurve with Theon teaching them both the long bow.

Taking it with soft reverence from Theon’s hands, she got into a stance and pulled the string back to test it, ignoring the pinching pain as it digs into her unprotected skin. It was tightly strung, and absolutely perfect in weight.

Slowly relaxing her position, she threw her arms around Theon, minding the bow, and held him close in thanks. And then Jeyne cleared her throat, getting Sansa’s attention. In her hands, were leather hand braces, made to protect the skin from the bowstring and give a better grip. Her dearest friend got a tight embrace as well.

Sansa was saddened to be leaving Jeyne behind, but she knew it would not be a good place for her friend. She wouldn’t call her friend delicate, but Sansa felt deep in her heart that she would wilt in The Neck, than flourish like Sansa. And ss servants and ladies maids were unnecessary, Sansa also realised she could not go from the moment Jojen had told her about that.

Jeyne was in tears at not being able to go with her, and for a week they shared a bed together, needing to be close to one another. But slowly they both came back around to reasoning, and Jeyne sheepishly admitted that she really didn’t want to live in a swamp anyways, much to Sansa’s amusement.

What was interesting though, was the close relationship that was blooming between Jeyne and Theon. After whatever serious talk that had Theon losing his boyish arrogance, Jeyne seemed to have found that appealing, the new maturity that was growing in Theon. Having caught an exchange of gifts and flowers every now and then, Sansa smiled in relief, knowing that the two courting young adults would be there for one another.

And Jeyne was very talented at reining in some of Theon’s more... _uninhibited_ , habits, which Sansa’s mother seemed to be pleased about.

When the day of the King’s arrival came, Sansa had Jojen’s warnings echoing in her head loudly, as well as his subtle plead to not fall for the prince. As if she would. Her heart was already dead set on him, and no Southern knight nor prince could sway her from Jojen. Nonetheless, Sansa stared down at the words on his letter, before finally throwing them into the fire, keeping that confession at the end, tearing it off from the bottom.

That held no secretive information, so she stored it with the rest of her letters, locking the box and putting the key around her neck. From there, she got dressed.

Slowly over the years, her taste in colours shifted to more subtle and cooler colours. Though pinks and yellows and bright shades still held a special part of her heart, Sansa found herself being drawn to blues and purples, some burnt shades of orange and browns. And more often than not, the mossy shade of green that the Reed family’s banner held.

She really did like the colour on it’s own, but Jojen was definitely a major factor when it came to liking it. And with the enemies arriving today, Sansa wanted to declare to which houses she belonged to. Clothes and courtesies were a lady’s armour after all.

A soft grey, short sleeved dress was pulled over the top of a moss green, long sleeved dress, thicker than the grey one, to not be so stifling. The green sleeves trailed low, past her knees but not dragging to her feet. The shorter grey sleeves cut off just at her shoulder, showing a soft fur lining around the hem. After being laced up at the back, Sansa ran her hands down the bodice, fingers catching slightly on the embroidery, smiling to herself.

Where the grey had a white wolf almost invisibly sewed onto the front, the green sleeves showed tiny lizard-lions running across them in a darker shade. It was subtle, but subtly was what Sansa liked to do best. She was quite proud of the dress and wished Jojen could see her in it.

After lacing up her boots, Sansa strode down the hallways, heels faintly clicking, and out the front entrance of the castle. There, she lined up with her siblings, those that were here in any case, and waited. Baratheon banners had been spotted in the distance, and the residents of Winterfell wait with nervous tension.

Soon enough the clattering of a wheelhouse and clopping of horse hooves reached them and they all fall into bows and curtseys as the King of the Seven Kingdom rides into her home.

The first of the royal family that she saw though was a golden haired boy, around her age perhaps. ‘ _Joffrey Baratheon._ ’ Her mind supplied. He seemed to try and catch her eye, a smug expression donning his handsome features, but she casually looked away, watching the rest of the procession. Sure he was good looking, but Sansa couldn’t find it in herself to even entertain the idea of being with him. He wasn’t Jojen.

And then the King finally rode in.

He, was not what she had expected from all the tales told of him and his battle prowess. He was a large man, no doubt. Plenty of strength in his large arms. But in the simplest terms, King Robert Baratheon, was fat.

Side-eyeing her father, she noted he looked quite shocked by the sight of his old friend as well, and came to the conclusion that it wasn’t normal for him to be of such weight. Still, he was the king, so she remained polite as he greeted her family.

He greeted her father with a bear-like hug, before doing to same with her mother. After greeting her brother, he looked at her and said, “My, you’re a pretty one.” Before moving to look at her sister. The familiar annoyance at being only recognised for a pretty face flared up, and she held back the need to roll her eyes.

He seemed to falter though at the sight of Arya, asking hoarsely, “And your name is?” Sansa did not like the look on his face, and was struck with the memory of her father saying that Arya was so very similar to Lyanna.

As she watched Robert move up to her father and quietly demand, “Take me to the crypt, so I can show my respects.” Sansa also remembered that Robert was in love with Lyanna, and basically started a war to get her back.

Surge of protectiveness crashed through her like waves on a cliff. If by some chance the King wanted her sister, Sansa would be the first to kill him, uncaring of becoming a kingslayer. 

Sansa was of the opinion that the queen was correct, that the dead could wait, but the king just demanded her father to follow, calling his name like a dog. She had to stop herself from clenching her fists, and followed after her mother as she showed the queen and her children their rooms.

As Ned strode through the Stark Crypts, he could sense apprehension fill him as they walked deeper. He knew what would be best for his kingdom and family, he did not lie to Sansa when he told her that. But that did not stop his heart from hammering, remembering the letter Howland had sent him, and the words it held.

‘ _My son had a vision. Lord Arryn was poisoned by his wife and Lord Baelish. He knew too much.’_ His friend promised to tell more when he came up for the wedding, so Ned waited everyday with baited breath on what possibly could Jon Arryn had known that had caused such a death.

But he kept that all to himself, knowing he had to play it smart. No matter how much he wanted to get justice for Jon Arryn, he knew that there were more important things than vengeance. 

And when the demand came from Robert, Ned refused.

His old friend did not like that, growling back, “Damn it, Ned! I need you to run my kingdom for me. You’re the one who helped be win it.”

Despite the near pleading look in Robert’s eyes, Ned stayed firm on his decision. “And I wish to stay here with my family. In my homelands. Starks do not do well in the South. You know this.” 

The man looked away as if in disgust, once more growling out, almost childishly, “I never wanted to be king, Ned!”

A surge of pity hit Ned as he looked at the husk of what was once a glorious man. Ned could not deny that he wished he could help him, but Robert should know that being an adult isn’t always about getting what you want. Especially when in a position of leadership. “Sometimes we must take responsibility, even in situations where we don’t want it.” He intoned, which seemed to piss him off more.

“Fuck, don’t preach to me, Ned. Just take the damn position.”

As his friend stepped closer, as if threatening him, Ned stood resolute in place. “I am refusing, Robert.”

“As your king, I order you.” He rumbled like a thunderstorm, but Ned was a Stark. A wolf was not one to bow before a stag.

“And I will still decline. I want nothing to do with the South.”

He looked almost afraid of Ned as he stepped back from him, muttering bitterly, “You’ve never refused me when I needed you. Don’t start now.”

Ned’s heart broke a little at the lost tone in his old friend’s voice, but he would not give in. “I’ve been given a new perspective on my life and lands, Robert. I must do right by my people first.” And that was something Robert should’ve been doing instead of drinking and whoring. 

With a frustrated sigh, like a huff of an angered animal, he cursed, “Well damn what ever idiot put such notions in your head! Damn them to the Seven Hells!” He yelled and paced around the empty crypt. Ned felt a little satisfaction dryly stating, “I would ask that you do not speak that away about my daughter, thank you very much.”

Spinning around, his eyes blazed with fury and disbelief, once more raising his voice, “Your daughter!? You take advice from girls now!? Was it the one that looks like Lyanna?”

At the anger dimming down to curiosity, Ned could sense his parental protectiveness grow in his chest as he coldly corrected, “No, my eldest.”

The man scoffed, “She looks like a Southern flower. I can’t believe you would marry her off to one of the frog-eaters. A girl like her will rot in the swamps.” 

It was something that Ned had noticed, the way Sansa showed how clever she truly was to only her closest family and friends, and even then it took them off guard at times. But she hid under the mask of a polite and sweet young lady, as if nothing bad was in the world. But over the years, he fixed their education by making sure his children were aware just how harsh their reality was. He wished to protect them from all the nightmares and villains in the world, but he knew that wouldn’t be possible.

And Sansa, she had truly grown up well, keeping her mind open and never once saying anything bad about her betrothed and his people. He knew the derisive words said against Howland and the Crannogmen, and was relieved when Sansa held not even a sliver of disgust towards them. He was disappointed and saddened that many expected her to be.

With a fixed, stern look sent Robert’s way, Ned corrected his ideas once more. “Contrary to your belief, there is nothing Southern about my children. And Sansa is very happy with her betrothal.”

The other man stared at him, and it seemed like all the fight was leaving him as he asked, no, pleaded. “Take the position, Ned.”

And Ned was truly sorry to hurt his friend so. But his people came first. “I’m sorry, Robert. I can not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im am living! With making up the culture and traditions in the crannogmen society. And researching swamps is just so much fun. Also, I hope you liked all the slow hints about what Ned is planning. I bet y’all have already figured it out tho. And it’s super handy that they have Jojen to give them a vision. And also, writing Bran in White Harbour was not a planned way to get him to safety until after I wrote it. My subconscious is a genius.
> 
> Thank you for reading! until next time


	4. Part 4: Unwelcome guests and unions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royal family’s brief stay and the wedding comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING FINALLY!! The wedding is here!

Sansa really did not want to be escorted in by the crown prince but property demands it. Resisting the urge to find a knife and gut him, Sansa politely smiled and nodded to whatever over exaggerated story he was telling to extol his virtues and talents. ‘ _What bullshit_.’ She thinks as she laughs at what was most definitely a terrible joke.

Luckily, she had to sit on the lower tables, happily, and elegantly, collapsing next to Arya. When none of the royal were looking her way, she pulled a disgusted face at her younger sister, who returned that with a face of her own.

Unlike her betrothal feast, there was this subtle tension in the air, and Sansa wondered if the royal family felt it. But for now, Sansa happily chatted with Jeyne and her sister. It took awhile for the two to grow friendlier, as Jeyne would tease Arya a lot. Sansa could admit that at times she herself did too, but after creating a truce with Arya, she put a stop to all the teasing. It wasn’t fair on any of them to continue such petty behaviour.

Now, the two seemed to get along well. Sansa always knew that Jeyne had a hidden talent for pranks, hidden from everyone but her, and thus a terrifying duo was born between the girls. As long as she wasn’t caught in the crossfire, Sansa was happy to allow them to carry on.

Taking a bite of her food, Sansa surveyed the Great Hall, and caught her father’s gaze. She stilled at the hardened steel in his grey eyes, and flicked her eyes to catch a glimpse at the King. He was heavy in his cups, and Sansa did not like how quickly he gulped down drink after drink.

The large man then leant over to her father and said something, to which his frown deepened and once again, she locked eyes with her father. He then made a beckoning gesture to her, and after swallowing a bite of food, Sansa got up and strode to the high table, ignoring the unsettled sensation in her gut.

He was still technically her King. He could break her betrothal if he wanted to. After whatever happened down in the crypts and after they showed the royals their rooms, her father took her aside and asked if she still wanted to marry Jojen.

Being the third person to ask her this, Sansa felt a sliver of annoyance worm it’s way out her throat. “Why does everyone doubt my loyalty to Jojen? Do I really seem that conceited that I would leave him for a prince?” Sansa exclaimed all of this in his solar, pacing with rage.

Curiously, her father had wondered, “Who else asked you this?”

With a gusty sigh, Sansa collapsed in a chair and replied forlornly, “Jojen, in the letter he sent me, said that he was afraid that I would see better opportunities for my future in the crown prince than with him. Which is ridiculous!” Her voice rising once more as she threw her hands up, truly fed up with such nonsense. “I love him, father. I do not want to marry anyone else.” She insisted fervently, and her father held up his hands in a calming motion.

“I’m not forcing you to. I wouldn’t even allow Robert to.”

Dread filled her stomach like old food, and she nearly wanted to throw up with what he was implying. “...He wanted us to marry.” 

Coming over, he placed his large hands comfortingly on her shoulders, looking her in the eye as he confirms, “He always wanted the joining of Stark and Baratheon. After my sister...” The pain at the memory was present in his voice and eyes. Placing a hand on one of his, she gave a small, sad smile.

“Then maybe your children would.” She finished for him. He nodded.

Thinking about all that as she stepped forward, Sansa fell into a perfect curtsey, and waited for whatever the king wished to say.

He eyed her for a long second before scoffing, looking at her father with an amused expression that he did not return, before turning back to her. “So, I here you don’t want to marry a prince. Isn’t that what all girls want in this world?” The derision in his words, as if mocking little girls and their dreams made her grit her teeth.

But she kept her emotions in check as she smiled with softness, “I confess I did as a child. But I grew up.”

He harrumphed, and sarcastically remarked, “And in growing up, you decided that marrying a prince was lesser option to marrying a frog-eater.”

Her fists clenched where they were held behind her back, and a mantra of ‘ _You can’t hit a king. You can’t hit a king._ ’ Filled her mind as she demurely looked away, as if embarrassed by her emotions. “I am honoured to be given even a thought as a possible bride to the crown prince. But I am quite taken with my current betrothed and would have to decline.” Here, she curtsied once more, head ducking down enough to hide the roll of her eyes, before straightening once more.

“So humble.” He scoffed into his goblet. After taking another large gulp, he barked, “Is that the truth or your courtesies?”

Pausing in thought, she stepped a bit closer and declared with finality, “The truth is that I do not want to marry your son. I do not want to marry anyone who is not Jojen Reed. It does not matter if that man is a prince or king. I would not marry them willingly. And nothing could change my mind either. Not all the gold and silver in the world could stop me from wanting to spend the rest of my life with him.” And maybe if her words came out loud enough that those nearby could hear them as well, then good. She is not ashamed of her emotions, no matter how she may portray herself.

He seemed caught off guard by her speech and the firmness in her voice, as if not expecting a girl of such manners and poise to have such strength. Looking to her father and mother, Sansa spotted that there was pride in both their eyes. Looking back to the king, she curtsied once more and turned around and left back to her seat.

Septa would be infuriated and aghast at how she dismissed herself in front of the king like that, without his approval. But in this moment, she did not care about manners and rules. She was tired of those who thought her so air-headed enough to throw aside a nearly six year betrothal just for some crown.

And thinking about the looks of the prince, sure he was beautiful, but Sansa found herself amused by the fact that she thought he looked too perfect. Not a hair or crease out of place. But with Jojen, there was a sense of reality with him. His hair curled and his cloak hung a little off to one side when he visited, and Sansa loved how imperfectly perfect he was for her.

Jeyne then leant in, “I know that look.” And then Arya and her did a fake swoon together, crooning, “ _Jojen_!” And Sansa, blushing furiously, shoved at their shoulders, “Shut up!” 

They cackled like witches and Sansa buried her face in her hands with a groan. They truly were the worst when working together. But it did the job of cheering her up from her sombre thoughts.

It was just as she was getting back to her food, starting to enjoy the feast once more, that one of the Queen’s maids came over and whispered in her ear that the Queen wished to talk to her. Sharing a tense look with her sister and friend, good feelings gone, she got up and made her way once more back up to the high table.

‘ _Wish they would just leave me alone to eat._ ’

Her mother looked uncomfortable and unsure next to the queen, a look so different from the easy confidence and surety that she usually wore. Sansa held back the need to glare at the queen, wondering what she could’ve said or done to her mother to cause such a change.

Instead she smiled and curtsied once more.

“Hello, little dove.” The Queen’s voice was just as beautiful as her, but Sansa could feel alarm in her body and mind at the pet name. Her mind was cast back to Jojen’s prophecy and it occurred to her that maybe, if she had actually gone South and married the prince, she would’ve been a little bird. She would’ve been trapped in a pretty cage, just like the Queen was. Though there was nothing bird like about the Queen, a lion pacing it’s confines, waiting to attack at any moment. 

“Your Grace.”

The smile was fake, that much Sansa could tell, even though her words sounded do real. Queen Cersei was very good at false niceties, but there was a strain on them, like a rope being pulled so much it was going to snap at any point. “My, you are a beauty. You would do well in the South.” A curious part of Sansa wanted to push her to the point of breaking.

Registering the compliment, Sansa smiled, “Thank you, your Grace.”

Then the smile dropped, and she said, “But you don’t wish to, do you.” It wasn’t not a question, and Sansa could spot the worry and alarm in her mother’s eyes. She was afraid. Whether for Sansa or because of the Queen. Maybe both. Sansa was stepping into dangerous grounds as she replied with sincerity, but it wasn’t soft or sweet.

“I have always wanted to see the South, but I do not feel I would be happy there.” She admitted, before gazing straight into those cat-like eyes. They were green, but not like Jojen’s they held malice. “I am a Stark, your grace. We do better in the North.”

The Queen hummed, “A Stark. Soon to be a Reed, I heard.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

She tapped her finger on her goblet and said, “You put aside the chance to go to the capital, to live in a swamp.” A mocking amusement in her words had Sansa finally snapping in the most calmest way she could.

“It is strange to many, but I am happy with my decision.” And then with an air of casual grace, she admitted as if it was a secret, “Of course, I understand that The Neck is not for everyone. Only strong may survive there.”

The cat-like eyes narrowed. “And you are strong?” A warning.

Sansa smiled, teeth barred, “I like to believe so, your Grace.” A threat.

The two ladies stared one another down, before with a curt nod, Sansa was dismissed. Curtsying and leaving, Sansa knew that the Queen would not be so indifferent to a slight like the King. She could feel the woman’s eyes on her, like daggers waiting to strike. Sansa truly did sympathise with her mother for having to sit next to such a horrid woman. Light of the West, sure. She was beautiful. But her heart was rotten. 

The rest of the feast tasted like ash in her mouth, exhausted by playing courtesies with these people. Closing her eyes, Sansa allowed herself to day dream about being next to Jojen, sharing their bed together and just talking through the night. Though she has learnt, Sansa did not like having to use her words like weapons, just wanting to speak honestly with out the fear of repercussion.

Glancing over at Rickon, who looked close to nodding off into his plate of half finished food, Sansa decided that was a perfect excuse to leave. As she got up to go to him, the sound of roaring laughter had her, and the other two girls, turning to where the King was on one of the lower tables and grabbing a kitchen maid onto his lap.

Her lip curled in disgust at such a blatant display of infidelity, and cast a cursory glance over at the Queen. She too was looking over at her husband with such hate, Sansa wondered how the man hadn’t caught on fire with how deadly it was.

Turning back to the King, Sansa remembered her resolution earlier that day, and swiftly looked to Arya and Jeyne.

“Arya, you may either come with me to put Rickon to bed, or stay here but keep far away from the King.” At her sudden demand, Arya frowned, taken aback. 

“Why?”

Leaning in closely so only they heard her, Sansa whispered with dead seriousness, “Because the King is a drunkard and whoremonger. And he loved Aunt Lyanna, which is exactly who you look like. I do not trust him to remember that you are not her, and I do not know what will happen.” And then made a pointed glance at said man.

Arya looked over, “Do you really think...” She trailed off, seeing the way the kitchen maid looked unsure at the lustful attention that was being showered upon her. Sansa hoped that her father would be able to break them apart.

Taking her sister’s hand in her’s, Sansa vowed with the solemnity of a Northern, “Arya. If that man touched you in anyway, I would gut him with my arrows. I do not care who he is. I would.” It was a promise.

Worrying her lip, Arya looked back over at the King, who at the same time looked their way and caught a glimpse at her sister. There was a red, alcohol flush on his features, eyes glazed, and Sansa made the decision for her sister.

Grabbing her arm, Sansa leant to Jeyne and whispered, “Get Rickon to bed.” The girl nodded and hurried off without a pause. From there, Sansa walked herself and her sister out of the Great Hall. Once breeching the doors, she took off running back to the castle, Arya following easily behind her.

When tucked back into her rooms, Lady lifting her head from her place by the fire in interest, Sansa could finally breath again from the near suffocating sensation that was rising the longer she spent at the feast. Turning around to Arya, said girl was looking unsure with herself.

“I’m sorry for just, dragging you away like that, Arya.”

She rubbed at her arm, where Sansa must have held on to tightly, shrugging awkwardly, “It’s okay. I would like to say I could take care of myself, but...”

With a tight smile, Sansa concluded her words,“It would just be best if you avoided him, or at least not be alone with him.”

Arya nodded, and then came closer. Sansa was a little shocked when her sister snaked her arms around her waist, but the red head smiled softly, and held her close. Arya never really seeks out comfort much anymore so it must have terrified her to even think about what a man would do to you against your consent. Sometimes, Sansa couldn’t help the way her mind strayed to such dark thoughts, a fear of what could happen.Then to drag herself out of the dark hole, she would comfort herself with imagining that she would take down her attacker with her arrows.

But to be faced with the real possibility, even though it wasn’t directed to her, Sansa was also shaken, and reflectively tightened her arms around the smaller girl. There was a knock, and Jeyne peeked in, carrying a sleeping Rickon. Both were in sleep clothes, and Sansa decided that the four of them would stay together tonight. Safety in numbers.

After Arya quickly ran to her room to change, Sansa did the same and proceeded to tuck Rickon into her bed. From there, the three girls curled about around him and each other, falling asleep easily even after a long day. The Stark children’s direwolves were in their own pile by the fireplace, and Sansa felt secure enough with the animals to protect them.

It was like the Old Gods were blessing them. The royal family would not be staying long, and Sansa could just collapse from relief. Of course, they still had to deal with them in the meantime, accommodating to their every whim. The youngest of the royal family were lovely, and Sansa enjoyed embroidering with Myrcella, and Tommen was a delight, reminding her of Bran.

The only problem was having to deal with Joffrey.

He had the arrogance that Theon used to have, though unlike him, Joffrey really didn’t have much fighting skill to back it up. At one point, Theon leant over to her and asked with bewilderment, “Was I really that bad?”

Pursing her lips to hide her smile, Sansa admitted, “You were better, but...”

He began to pout before Jeyne came fluttering over and soothed his bruised ego. Giggling at the couple, Sansa moved away, giving them some peace. Watching them, though she was most certainly happy for them, made her ache for her own betrothed. It seemed that Jojen had stopped sending letters since the warning, which Sansa could understand.

He was either not wanting to draw much attention to her betrothal, or was still unsure after what he had written. She had sent a reply not soon after getting that letter, reassuring him that he had nothing to worry about, but maybe he was still uncertain? She pushed those worries to the back of her mind, needing her full attention on dealing with the Royal family.

Practising archery was, apparently, not the best decision today, as the crown prince seemed to have wandered over to watch. After Theon helped with Rickon’s form, Arya and Sansa moved forward for their turn on the range.

As they were strapping on their leather arm guards and prepping, they both turned at the disbelieving scoff sent there way, narrowing their eyes as one. He seemed to falter slightly at their glares but recollected himself, arrogantly swaggering up to the fence. Behind him, his shadow, The Hound, stood silently, looming, as his charge began to mock the two girls.

“I heard the North was quite barbaric, but I didn’t think they would allow girls to use weapons.” His face twisted up in disgust, and it seemed his preety features were only that when he wasn’t talking.

Raising her eyebrow, unimpressed with his insult, Sansa smiled sardonically, “The North is a hard land to survive in comparison to the South. We all must be strong here.”

He narrowed his eyes, hearing the insult and snidely asked, “And you know how to use them?”

Flipping her braid over her shoulder, Sansa confidently replied, “But of course. I wouldn’t be wielding a weapon if I didn’t know how to use it.” Another insult on the fact that though he carried a sword, he was crap with actually using it. 

And with that, Sansa turned, took aim, and fired her arrow in one fluid motion. It soared true and hit her intended target with a thunk. The bullseye. And then, she turned and gave the prince a beatific smile. Wordlessly he glared before storming away, and flush of shame painting his beautiful face ugly once more. It seemed he was not good with receiving insults. ‘ _He wasn’t that good with giving them either._ ’ Sansa internally mocked.

After that he seemed to leave her alone, no longer trying for useless flattery as he did before. It was as if was trying to woo her because it should be easy for him. And once she showed how obviously she was disinterested in him, mainly by insults, he left her alone. And soon shortly after, the royal family left. And her father stayed where he belonged. In the North.

Their departure held the same fanfare as when they arrived, and Sansa was quite happy to see them go. Watching the retreating banners on the castle walls, she wondered if she would ever see them again.

It seemed the time between then and her sixteenth name day flew by. Life carried on normally after the royal’s visit, with Sansa diving back into her studies, as well as gathering together the houseware items and objects in preparation for her new home. For her name day, she didn’t really want much, just had a celebration and enjoyed being able to spend her day with her family eating lemon cakes. The next day, everything was once more following the typical schedule.

The weaving of the mosquito net was more time consuming than she had thought, though After gaining the thin wool, which took time as it had to be finely spun, she then had to do the weaving on her loom.Her mother had suggested about having the net made by an actual weaver, but Sansa declined. She had practised enough to be confident in her ability to create the netting, and she wanted this to be made by her own hands.

In the time that was usually relegated to her lessons, Sansa put them on pause to spend it making the nett. Of course her parents were unhappy with her not continuing her lessons, but she promised that she could catch up afterwards, as it was important for her to get this done before the wedding.

On top of making the netting, she was also putting together a new wardrobe. By the end of all this sewing, Sansa was quite confident her callouses would be firmer than ever. Her typical dresses would not do well with the weather and environment of The Neck. The thick layers of fur and wool would have her melting in the humid air, and the length of her dresses would just be a hinderance to completing tasks, tripping her up and just completely ruining the previously lovely fabrics.

Arya suggested just making breeches and tunics, but Sansa enjoyed the more feminine clothes that she currently wore. So, she tried her best to combine the two styles. Breeches that were more tighter fitting and stopping at her knees, and loose fitting tunic tops that laced up around the collar bone area, which allowed her to unlace them if it got too hot. And then skirt that she had seen many small folk women wear. Buttoned up at the back and containing deep pockets, Sansa thought it was all very feminine but practical as well. And if the skirts were in the way, she could just tuck the hems up into her waist band, giving her freer movement.

The skirts were the more colourful part of her new wardrobe, ranging from soft blues, to mossy greens, to light browns. And then her breeches just being either greys or dark browns, and her tunics all being an off-white cream colour.

She had also made some thick woollen sweaters and cardigans to pull on if by some chance it got cold, but a large part of her very much doubted she would use them often. But better safe than sorry.

Lastly were her shoes. The shoes they wore there were reed and vine made sandals, and only rarely actual boots, when on more firm and stable ground. Jojen had admitted that at times, he would go weeks without actually wearing any shoes. She only had her boots, but figured that Jojen would be able to teach her how to make the shoes.

With all that made and tucked into one of the three trunks she was bringing with her, Sansa was prepared for her move to The Neck. All that was left was to continue her studies and wait to get married.

A month from her marriage, Sansa suddenly felt panicked over the actual bedding. All this time she was looking towards the future of living with him, she completely forgot what their first night together was supposed to be like! In the North, it wasn’t completely traditional to have to consummate the marriage the night of their wedding, though it more or less always happened. But it wasn’t like the South, where they stripped you down and shoved you into a room together. Sansa was relieved to keep that part of her dignity intact, knowing her father would not allow such behaviour.

But there was still the actual bedding bit that had her in a tizzy! She was tempted to go to her mother to ask for more information besides, _’It will hurt some, but he will know what to do_.’ It was useless information!

Sansa was sure there weren’t many, if any, whores in The Neck, seeing as they live very secluded lives there, so the thought of some floating building on the water with just whores made her laugh in near hysterics. With that in mind, and the absolute trust that Jojen hadn’t laid with any whores, neither of them knew what they were doing!

Sure the basic concept was there, but what next!?

And then her mind drifted over to whores again, and across the courtyard where she was having a walk to calm her frantic mind, Sansa spotted Theon, Robb, and Jon -who had come down from the Wall for her marriage.

A thought flashed in her mind, and with a single-minded focus, she stalked over to them. Sansa didn’t think she looked that terrifying, but by the way they blanched and tried to retreat, maybe her expression was scary.

Crowding them into a secluded corner of the courtyard, she peeked around to make sure no one was listening in, before leaning in close and demanding, “I need you to take me to a whore house.”

There was spluttering all around and she had to roll her eyes at their profuse denials. With a gusty sigh, Sansa forged on over their stuttering, giving them a bland look. “Don’t deny it, I’m not an idiot. I need to know what goes on in the marriage bed, and mother is useless.”

Theon stuttered, not looking in her eyes, “I-I mean. I’m sure Lady Stark is not-“

With a dead stare, Sansa dryly cut him off, “Theon. I am not asking my mother, nor my _father_ for that matter, on what sex is like. They are my parents and that is disgusting. I do not need to know what they do in their bedroom.”

By Robb’s expression, he wholeheartedly agreed. Jon then frowned, “I don’t think we could sneak you out, Sansa.”

With a sigh of irritation, she threw her hands up in the air and suggested, “ _Fine_. Then bring a whore here!”

They shushed her raised voice, and Robb tiredly rubbed at his eyes, looking eerily like their father, and bemoaned, “Why, are you so adamant about a whore?”

Hands on her hips, Sansa stated factually, “Because they know all about pleasing a man and Jojen-“

Flailing, Robb covered her mouth with his hands and whispered/yelled, “Right! I’ve heard enough!” Giving her a pleading look, he conceded, begging, “Sansa, we will get you your whore, just _please_. Stop making me think about you and sex.”

Pushing his hands away, she chirped, “Thank you, boys!” And then with that mission successfully completed, Sansa turned and flounced off. Sure it was a little embarrassing to ask such a favour, but it seemed they were worse off than her.

In an unused room of the castle, close to the kitchens where they snuck the woman in, sat Sansa and said woman across from one another. The three young men were in the room too, not sure if it would be okay to leave her alone with a stranger, and the fact that they were a little curious as well.

Which of course they came to regret as soon as the whore jumped straight into explaining different positions and pleasing a man. She said it all with such frankness, that after Sansa managed to contain her blush, she soon relaxed and leant forward in interest, absorbing all that the professional spoke about.

Taught like a lesson, Sansa asked questions and tried not to think about her three brothers behind her awkwardly shuffling, their embarrassment palpable in the room. After the woman finished explaining techniques and positions, she soon moved onto the woman’s body.

With a scoff, she waved at the boys behind her, “Most of the time the men that come to us are not good at actually pleasing us. All the noises are faked for their benefit. Sometimes we are lucky and the man does know what to do, but that does not happen often. What you need to understand is that sex is not just for the men, but the women as well. If he is not pleasing you, you tell him. Make him work for it if you have to.” And Sansa giggled when the woman winked at her. 

And from there, in vivid detail, she explained the way to pleasure a female body, which was very useful to learn. All she had heard about bedding is that it will hurt. But to know that yes, at times it may hurt on the intrusion, it can be good.

But what was surprising to learn, was when the woman diverged into talking about preventing children.

She tsked as she brought out a piece of scrapped parchment, “What if you don’t want to have another child? If what you have is enough? A whore who does not know how to stop a pregnancy is either stupid, new, or wanting to have a child. More often with a lord for some kind of benefits.” And the disgust in her voice had Sansa quite interested on the politics that went on in a whore house.

She explained monthly cycles as well, and when you are at your most and least fertile. As well as the types of tea to take for both preventing pregnancy and aborting the child.

“If you do not want the child, best to take the abortive as soon as possible, as too late could kill or severely injure you. I have written a list for you of the different herbs.”

And with that parting information, she got up, collected her money from the fumbling hands of Robb, and swept out of the room. The silence that settled was awkward, and turning around to look at the bright red faces of the men, Sansa was sent into a peal of laughter.

She would hold this over them forever, cause by the god she knew they wouldn’t with how severe their embarrassment was.

With Robb growling out, pointing a firm finger in her direction, he vowed, “We are never talking about this. Never. _Ever_.” And then he raced out of the room, with Theon and Jon following behind him, relieved to escape. Sansa spent a good five minutes trying to gather herself together from how hard she was laughing.

Vibrating with excitement, Sansa stood in front of her bedroom mirror as her mother fixed her hair. Besides her was Jeyne, who was ducking down to finish up lacing the back of her dress. She was getting married today.

“I’m getting _married_ today.” Sansa whispered with wonder, and caught the fond smile on her mother’s face in the mirror. “That you are, Sweetling.”

Most, if not all, the Northern houses have sent their lords, ladies, or representatives for this wedding, and Sansa couldn’t help how amazing it felt that her entire kingdom would know who she was marrying.

The Reed house was the last that have arrived, being the furtherest away to travel from, and Sansa was not able to be there to greet them. It’s been three years since she’d last seen Jojen, and she won’t even be able to say _hello_! They would be reunited in the Godswood as they say their vows, which she found to be quite romantic, but very frustrating! Sansa had tried to cajole her mother and father to allowing them a quick meeting before their ceremony, but with amused smiles, they refused her plea.

Pouting to herself, Sansa took another look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was down, with only two small braids pulling it back from her face. Her mother had suggested a more elaborate style, but Sansa wanted it down. So they compromised.

Her dress was Stark white and grey, a high neck with dark green lining the collar. It was tight fitting across the bodice before flaring out from the waist. The sleeves were long with a fur trim, the inner lining showing the dark green inside. But what she really loved about the dress, was the detailed embroidery.

At the bottom were a direwolf and a lizard-lion. They both seemed to be running to each other, meeting in the middle with their tail ends curving up to the sides and to the back of her dress. It was a large piece of embroidery, one of her biggest projects. The wolf was in dark greys and blacks, and the lizard-lion in greens, and she was proud of her work.

Besides that, the rest of the dress was simple, no other elaborate embroidery, only wanting their union to be the main focus. She did not know what her maiden’s cloak looked like though, her mother, sister, and Jeyne having kept it a secret whilst working on it, but she trusted them that it would be beautiful.

A knock at the door jarred her from her thoughts, and the three females turned towards it as it creaked open. Arya’s face appeared in the gap, and she let out an astonished noise. “Woah Sansa! You’ve never looked this pretty before!”

The underhanded insult had Sansa barking out a laugh as their mother tsked in exasperation. Scuttling in, Arya closed the door, and Sansa noticed that she had her hands tucked behind her back.

Raising an eyebrow, Sansa asked, “And what are you hiding?”

With a cheeky grin, Arya chirped, “Guess!”

Humming in thought, she tried, “My cloak?”

Arya blew a raspberry, “Pfft, no. That’s to big to hide. Try again!” Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Sansa sighed with exasperation.

“Arya.”

With a roll of her eyes, Arya submitted, “Fine.” And from behind her back, she revealed a crown of winter roses and weirwood leaves, all weaved tightly together. The blue and red stood vibrantly out against one another, and Sansa was caught by the fact that they were Tully colours.

And going by the soft gasp from her mother, she noticed it too.

Sansa sometimes forgot how far from home her mother was. Though often she clashed with Northern ideals, it was always hidden well. And with how everyone always talked about the Starks, and how their children are the pinnacle of Northern blood, Sansa wondered if mother was sad that her family was always brushed aside.

Sansa held a lot of pride in her father’s side of the family, going out of her way to consistently wear the house colours, especially at formal occasions. ‘ _Well_ ,’ Sansa thought to herself, chancing a glance at the affection and underlining loss in her mother’s eyes, ‘ _I will wear her colours today._ ’

Striding over to her small sister, who never seemed to get that growth spurt she was always dreaming for, Sansa knelt before her sister, declaring with a grin, “Crown me then, Arya.” 

Despite the solemn looked she pulled, Arya’s mouth twitched in amusement as she intoned, “By the Old Gods and the New, I declare, Sansa of the House Stark, soon to be of House Reed, Queen, for the day.” And reverently placed it upon her head.

The weight was there, but not enough to bother her as she stood up and tugged her sister into a hug. Pressing a loving kiss upon her brown hair, Sansa whispered, “I will miss you so, Arya.”

Nuzzling into her chest, Arya murmured back, “I’ll miss you too, Sansa.”

It snowed that evening. And though some believe that it would lead to a cold marriage, Sansa doubted it. She saw it as the gods blessing their union instead. Torches were staked into the ground, creating a luminescent pathway towards the weirwood tree. The air was still, with only the crunch of footsteps in the snow to interrupt it. The heaviness that existed the minute you stepped into the Godswood was always there, but it could not dampen her elation with finally marrying Jojen.

Around her was her maidens cloak. A beautiful piece of artwork, with a large dire-wolf face in the centre, trouts swimming on the edges and what looked like two arrows crossed behind the dire-wolf. In both her house colours, Sansa felt _glorious_.

Maester Luwin would be officiating the marriage, and she tightened the hand on her father’s arm as he led her towards Jojen. He stood still, in dark greens and blacks, a cloaked of what looked like moss upon his shoulders. And the fire light made his green eyes brighter as he stared wide eyed at her approaching figure.

Wonder shone in them and Sansa knew that her’s reflected the same. Standing next to him, she was able to see how he had grown more over the last three years. At eighteen, he stood tall and lean, his dirty blond hair dusted with snow flakes. He was beautiful and at the nervous smile that crept on his lips, she couldn’t help returning it.

They faced one another as the Maester intoned, “Who comes before the Gods this night?”

Her father answered with a low voice, and Sansa saw the pride and sadness in his eyes at giving away his daughter, “Sansa, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

As when she met him before, he had a soft, somber voice, but it wasn’t any less strong because of it. If anything, it was more powerful, as it had everyone leaning in close, desperate to catch his words and paying avid attention to it. “Jojen, of the House Reed, heir to Greywater Watch. Who gives her?”

The arm in her hand tensed before releasing her over to Jojen, “Eddard, of the House Stark, who is her father and protector.”

As she stepped closer to Jojen, Maester Luwin began, slowly tying their joined hands together as he spoke, “We are gathered here today in the sight of the gods and men to bear witness to the joyous occasion that is marriage between Lady Sansa and Lord Jojen.”

Here it was time to say their vows. Vows in the North could be simple or as elaborate as the couple wanted. Sansa did not know what Jojen would say, but he had a way with words, so she knew it would be something serious and breath taking. “I swear on the earth and water, bronze and iron, and ice and fire. I shall stay loyal and true. I shall protect you life with mine until my last breath.” It was an adjusted version of the Reed family’s fealty vow, and she was correct. Her breath was taken away by what that implied. 

It made her grateful she had demanded Jon to tell her the Night’s Watch vow, and edited it to work for her, as well as adding part of the swornshield’s vows. Wetting her lips, Sansa speaks for just him and the gods, “The night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I pledge myself to you, to care for you through good health and sickness. And that the hearth will always be alight for you.” His fingers tightened at her words, breath hitching. Yes, she was very proud of her vows.

And then her father stepped forward, taking off her maiden’s cloak. She mourned the loss of it’s weight, but soon Jojen’s settled on her shoulders. She was right, it was made from moss and the heavy, earthy scent smelt just like him. Sansa knew that many ladies would’ve balked at the idea of wearing nature in such away, but Sansa found it fitting that he was cloaking her with the protection of not only his family, but his land as well. She was under the Crannogmen’s protection. Maester Luwin turned to her, “Lady Sansa, do you take this man?”

She did not take her eyes off Jojen as she happily declared, “I take this man.”

“Lord Jojen, do you take this woman?”

He did not move his away from her either, near whispering with reverence, “I take this woman.”

Finally, Maester Luwin proclaimed, “In the sight of the Old Gods and the New, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.”

They recited the last vows in unison, unable to take their eyes off one another by an inch, like moths drawn to a flame, they drew one another in with just a gaze. And then they paused, as it came for them to seal their marriage with a kiss. She had never kissed anyone, and Sansa wondered his he hadn’t either. Gently, cautiously, they met in the middle, a soft press that felt like lightning coursing through her blood. His hands, so strangely warm despite the cold, untangled from the ribbon that bound them to cradle her face.

She pressed slightly closer with her lips before pulling away. It could not have lasted more than a few seconds but she was breathless, euphoric. They re-intertwined their hands as they knelt in pray before the weirwood tree.

Like that time, many years ago, Sansa prayed, ‘ _Let this be a happy marriage, please_.’

From there, they stood, and Sansa couldn’t help the squeak that left her lips as Jojen suddenly swept her off her feet, carrying her back into the castle with ease. There were cheers all around them, laughter and clapping, and Sansa couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled from her chest. Though his stature belied it, he was stronger than many thought, and carried her with ease to the feast. 

Jojen looked down at her, adoration in his green eyes, and gave her a tender smile in return.

Not many could say that their betrothed marriage would be a happy one, but Sansa knew in her heart of hearts, that her’s would be from the moment Jojen responded to her first letter. The feast passed by like a blur, her only focus being on him and him alone. She shared dances with her sibling, more particularly with Bran who came with the Manderlys, and parents. She shared a dance with Jojen as well, slower than their first one, but no less heart racing.

Feasting and chatting, Sansa was sure her face would be aching in the morning with how much she was smiling. And though Jojen was more subdued with his own emotions, Sansa did not doubt for one second that he was just as happy as her. 

She also got to finally meet her good-sister. She was a sardonic young woman, just a four years older than her, and Arya got along great with her. Sansa managed to offer her sincere thanks at sending her that letter to help her get to know her husband.

_Her husband!_ Just the word sent shivers of joy down her back.

There was no bedding ceremony, as planned, though a few drunk lords loudly dared to proclaim it. But her father had stood up and firmly shot them down. Instead, Jojen shyly took her hand, and they walked together alone towards their bed chamber. The room was lit with candles, a warm glow cast across the stone walls. The fire place was crackling merrily in it’s place, and Jojen seemed to sigh in relief at the warmth. 

As the door clacked shut, Sansa felt sudden nerves flaring through her, and with trembling hands, she began to take down her hair. Her back faced him as she set the crown onto the dresser, so she only heard rather than saw him step closer.

From there he reached his hands towards her laces and paused, “May I?” He asked, and the low, husk of his voice had her near shaking as she nodded in reply. Picking the laces delicately, Sansa reached back to untie her braids.Her body felt alight with each loosened lacing, and Sansa let out a shaky breath as he paused on the last one at her lower back.

“I-“ He began then stopped. After a deep breath, he tried again. “I have never done this before, Sansa. And I don’t-“

As he cut himself off, Sansa completed his confession. “You don’t feel ready.”

Here, she turned around to face him. The red hue showed shame more than shyness, and her hands came up to cup his cheeks. “I don’t know if I’m entirely ready myself.” She admitted softly, and saw the slump of relief in his shoulders.

With an awkward smile, he suggested, “Can we wait.”

And she nodded resolutely, “Of course we can.”

From there, they undressed separately, crawling into their wedding bed with their night clothes on. Laying down across from one another, Sansa felt no rush. There was no hurry for them. And just being to able lay next to the young man she loved, was more than enough for her. He leant close and placed a soft, but consuming kiss on her lips, and Sansa shuffled closer the strengthen it. Through their bedclothes, she could feel the heat of her skin and thought to herself, ‘ _I could stay like this for eternity._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhhhh what a long chapter. Though I have to say, I’m very pleased with the hidden insults that Sansa used on Cersei and Joffrey. Next chapter, settling into the swamp life and god am i stoked! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Until next time.


	5. Part 5: home and war horns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling into her new life is cut of abruptly by the drone of the war horns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I view Crannogmen as like, feral floridians of this universe, btw. And i put so much god damn research into swamps, y’all better be grateful!

The heat of the day was just creeping into their home, a soft breeze rippling off the water and in through their windows. Outside, the leaves and branches creak and rustle, frogs and insects croaking and buzzing. Inside, her arm was tossed over a bare, sleep warm chest, feeling it move with every breath and the subtle heart beat working steadily. A large hand was gently resting on said arm, circles traced on her skin, and Sansa nudged her nose against the shoulder her face was pressed against. 

As she began to shift though, Sansa stilled, as a foreign texture brushed her skin. Groggily, Sansa asked, voice heavy from sleep, “Is that you?”

The other person let out a tired sigh. “Snake.” He confirmed her suspicion, and she sighed in annoyance.

There was slow movements as Sansa lifted the blanket silently, not wanting to jar the reptile from it’s slumber. As Jojen reached under, quick as a flash, his hand lashed out and yanked the snake out of the bed by it’s neck.

It hissed and squirmed, trying to attack and escape all at once, body wiggling in the air. But Jojen held a tight grip just under it’s head, and staggered out of bed, still only half-awake. With a breath of relief, Sansa flopped back into bed, snuggling down into where her husband previously laid, as she heard the sounds of the front door opening, a pause, and then a splash in the distance.

From there, Jojen came back in, closed the door, and ducked under the mosquito net. She let out a shocked laugh as he slummed over her, covering her head and torso with the weight of his body. Grinning, she pushed against it move him off of her, and heard his laugh vibrate his chest.

Rolling off her, she grinned up at him and curled closer to his body once more, pressing a light kiss onto his bare shoulder. He hummed in response, hand coming up to brush her cheek.

It has been over a month since she had moved to The Neck and settled in. The weather was expectedly different, barely a cold chill in the air. Instead, the wet heat had her hair curling in a way she had never known it to do before. Even after brushing it out there was a body to it where it normally was quite flat.

Still, she adapted. It was what she knew had to happen, so she did not fight it the changes around her. Her hair was almost constantly in a braid, out of her face in someway. A week in and she started to tie a cloth around it to keep it all contained. She spied that Jojen’s hair curled under the humid weather too, though not the same riot of curls that Rickon had.

Two days after the wedding, Sansa left her childhood home and family. It was a teary affair, promising to write, and for everyone to take care of one another. Her mother gave her a very tight embrace, and Sansa thought about how her own mother had died, and wasn’t there to send her off when she left to the North. Sansa found herslef to be so lucky all of her family was safe and well.

It took a month of fast travel, borrowing horses from the Winterfell stable to make quick work across the land. When they got to the edge of the swamps, a flat boat was there to meet them. Large for their group of four and her trunks to sit easily on. They were escorted down by Stark men, Jory was one of them. She gave the man a large hug, knowing she would miss him dearly as he had been around her since her birth, and even a bit before that.

When she stood on the boat, having to widen her stance a tad so she was balanced, Sansa watched as Jojen and Meera take up long oars. They dug them into the water, hitting what Sansa assumed was the bottom of the river, and pushed them off. Towards the canopy of trees that began to loom over them, Sansa took one last look of the outside world, before she had to duck under vines that covered her vision. 

Lady had come with her down from Winterfell, but both Sansa and her direwolf knew it would be impractical to bring such a large, non-aquatic animal, into the swamp. Instead, Lady had taken to prowling the lands north of The Neck, running freely, but staying as close to Sansa as she could. She had pressed a soft kiss to that furry head and given her a firm hug, saying her farewells to her dear companion on the shoreline before stepping on to the boat. Lady howled mournfully from the shore as Sansa disappeared from sight, and she quickly dashed away the tears that began to flow.

As they drifted deeper into the swamp, Sansa watched with delight as the sun streamed in through the trees, a green and yellow light dancing around them, as the foliage shone. Sitting on one of the trunks, Sansa took in her new home with avid attention. The air was thick with moss and earthy smells, and it reminded her of Jojen, only stronger.

Birds flapped up in the branches, the land alive with animals all around, and Sansa gapped in awe at how massive the trees were. They stood tall and proud, though many did curve in ways that looked like strange bodies or hands, breaking through the water’s surface.

When she peered into the river, Sansa noted that it was murky, but Meera mentioned there were parts of the swamp where the water was clearer, so Sansa trusted her knowledge. At one point on their way to her new home, Sansa thought she spotted something moving across the water a ways from them, but when she peered over, it was gone.

Sansa could admit she was apprehensive at living so near dangerous animals, but if all of the Crannogmen managed to do so, so could she.

When they got to the house that Jojen had built, it was floating in the middle of a clearing of the trees. Sansa had to brush more vines out of her face when they came to it, and softly gasped at the sight of it.

On thick logs, stacked next to one another and bound tightly, was large planks of wood nailed on top to create a flat surface and barrier from the water. And the house sat in the middle with large enough space to walk around it. Made of warm brown woods, it was a two story cottage sitting on the water, waiting for it’s arrivals. The roof came up to an almost peak as it flattened at the top, and it wasn’t until Jojen climbed up there that Sansa realised why.

It was a small walk way for them to steer the house using the massive branches, so that they could direct it’s movements without running into any nature in their way. Sansa thought that was a very clever design, and wondered if all of the houses had that same construct.

When their boat softly hit the house edge, Jojen helped her up, has hand in her’s. Hitching up the side of her skirt, she climbed up and marvelled at it all. Giving him a wordless, gaping expression, he laughed, pleased by her approval. She threw her arms around him, and he spun her around, relieved that she loved his creation.

Meera and Lord Reed efficiently helped lift the trunks up and onto the wooden floor, and after a short round of goodbyes, they sailed off. Then, it was just her and Jojen, their little house, and the rest of the world.

The front door opened into one large room, with kitchen counter tops and a fire stove to the left of them, and to the right was what Sansa figured was the bedroom area. There was a small division made between the two areas, like a wall was built, but leaving a wide doorway for them to move through. Sansa had a vision of putting up a curtain over that doorway at some point in the future. In the kitchen area, there was a round table with two seats in the left back corner under a window, that had golden light streaming through it.

The left corner of the house was a staircase leading upwards, a cupboard door under it, closed neatly. That section of the building had wall in front of it, almost hiding it from sight and leaving a small hallway open to access the door. And then right across, on the opposite side of the house was another door, leading to the back of the walkway.

In their bedroom, the bed was tucked under a window in the centre of the room, with a hook on the ceiling above it and four short posters on the bed frame. It was made out of branches nailed together, and Sansa could feel her breath leave her with the sudden realisation that Jojen built all of this. That with his own two hands, the very hands that she held as she tugged him around their home to explore, had created all of this for them.

Sansa doesn’t think she will ever be able to get over that breathless realisation.

On the outside, Sansa noticed that the back area of the float was longer, giving enough room to house plenty of clay pots for the plants that grew from it. She spotted marigolds in hanging flower pots by the front and back doors, and recalled that it was one of the plants that mosquitos didn’t like. But there were other plants scattered around, some for getting rid of the bugs, some for medicine or food. But either way, it was all so bright and full of life, that Sansa was falling more in love with her home by the minute.

And finally, around left side of the house had a small bench for them to sit upon, and the right wall had an inbuilt ladder to reach the roof.All in all, Sansa spent the entire rest of the day just familiarising herself with her new home, and Jojen happily followed her around, pointing anything that she missed. Overcome by how astonishing and beautiful it all was, Sansa tugged him down into a furious kiss in the middle of their kitchen, needing to show her appreciation somehow. He responded quite readily. 

On either side of the window above their bed, Sansa hung the two crowns. The feast one on Jojen’s side, and the wedding one on her’s. That was the first thing she did. Next was putting up the netting, hooking it up above their bed, and letting it hang down and over the posters. She thought with the way it was white and sheer, letting the sunlight come through it, was very romantic.

The small room under the stairs that was nearly hidden from view, Jojen had explained it was where they would go to relieve themselves. He explained in factual detail along with how their system worked, and Sansa couldn’t help the face she pulled, much to his amusement.

On the other side of that corridor wall, facing into their room, was a large wooden rail, with many hangers for their clothes, and a couple of open shelves below it for folded items. She happily dug out all her clothes after hanging up the netting, hanging and sorting them all neatly, whilst Jojen puttered about the kitchen, fixing them something to eat.

Apparently someone had stopped by to deliver some food for the newlyweds, but they would still have to go out and either hunt, forage, or sail to the market for more. The market, Jojen had only talked about briefly, and Sansa was brimming with curiosity over why he hadn’t talked much on it.

However, she held it all in, knowing they would get there at some point.

So instead she spent her time falling into her new life, with Jojen helping her when she needed it. The first thing he taught was making sandals, which Sansa found to be a fun affair. They sat on the bench outside talking about anything and everything, a pile of gathered reeds at their feet, she listened to his calm and low voice guide her through the process.

And now, a month in, Sansa would like to say she was used to the life here. But snakes in their bed was still taking its time to grow on her.

With a groan, she crawled out of said bed and out of Jojen’s embrace, who grumbled at her movement. Ducking under the netting, she began to get ready for the day. Getting dressed, she pulled on a white top, her brown breeches, and a green skirt. The sleeves were already rolled up from when she wore it yesterday, and just had to shove them further up to her elbows. From there, Sansa sat on the stool for the small vanity, and began to sort out her hair.

As she began to brush, shuffling from the bed alerted her to Jojen getting ready as well, and she snuck a peek or her shoulder.Sure, they were sharing a bed, but the act of being intimate was slow going, both wanting to get used to actually being in one another’s space before taking that next step. However, that did not mean she couldn’t admire his toned chest and lean muscles.

Sansa watched long enough to see him pull on a brown tunic, liking the way his own rolled sleeves showed his forearms, before swiftly turning back to her task at hand. Which was then stopped by Jojen coming behind her and snagging the brush from her hands.

Huffing, amused, Sansa let him brush through her tangles, relaxing into the soothing motions. It reminded her of when her mother would do the same, and she sank into that nostalgia. His long, nimble fingers combed and then parted her hair, braiding it down her back.

She was pleasantly surprised when she had learnt that he could braid hair, and he had just shrugged and said, “After out mother passed, Meera taught me. She liked when others did her hair.”

Though saddened by the reminder that he had lost his mother young, her heart warmed by the fact that he felt comfortable enough to dip into those memories to help her. Sansa found him doing this almost every morning and didn’t even want to put up a fuss about it.

Wrapping a cloth around her head, tucking her braid into it, Sansa put on her last item of the day, her belt. It was a leather, sturdy thing, with multiple tools and items hooked and strapped on. From a couple of small knifes, to a small machete, to a hand axe, and finally a canteen of water and a little pouch.It was a necessary item, and soon enough Sansa grew used to the weight on her hips, liking the easy access for when in the middle of a task.

As she went about preparing a small breakfast of fruits and grains, Jojen stepped outside to check on the anchoring of the float. Sansa hummed lightly to herself, enjoying the way her bare feet softly scratched against the wooden floors, and swaying to the song in her head. Her skirt fluttered around her calves at her movements, and Sansa popped a hawthorn berry into her mouth. Spitting the pip out and into the compost bucket outside, she pulled on her sandals and brought breakfast to her husband. Though she had grown used to wearing sandals, feet not normally so bare in the North, she hadn’t gotten to the point of full bare feet all the time like Jojen.

Daily chores consisted of preparing meals, checking on the potted plants, as well as the chickens. It was a small little hut and fenced off area in the back of the float, giving them eggs and having good pest control at times. Chickens were very talented at eating bugs, Sansa had found, so she sometimes allowed them to wander around their home, letting them feast upon the flying annoyances.

Collecting eggs from the hutch, Sansa started to carry them back inside when something soft rained down on her head and thumped to the floor. Looking, up she saw the cheeky smile of her husband on the roof, peering over the side, and then glanced down at what he had thrown on her after pulling a face up at him.

A bunch of blueberries were rolling at her feet, and she snorted in dry amusement, crouching down the scoop them into the basket with the eggs. Balancing it on one hip, she gave him an exaggerated one-handed curtsey. “Thank you so much for the fruits, dear husband.” 

At her drawl, Jojen smiled innocently and replied, “Of course, my wife. Also could you get me a basket to hold them all in?” He then tacked on sheepishly.

With an amused roll of her eyes, she went inside, placing her basket on the counter top and dug into the large open cupboard that held many of the baskets and dish ware. It was set in between the table and the kitchen space, and Sansa rooted around in it for a woven basket.

Coming back out, she held it up for him to take it, and he did was a soft thanks. Back on task, she went inside once more for the basket of laundry.

Looking inside one of the four barrels of fresh water, she tsked and called out, knowing Jojen would hear with how all the window shutters were flung open, letting in a lovely breeze.

“We need to go and get more fresh water!”

“Will do!” Was his called response.

With that taken care of, she dragged the barrel outside to the bench, where the washing board and tub were set off to the side of the seat. Filling the tub 3/4 full, she sat down on the ground and proceeded to wash all their clothes.

‘ _The best thing about learning archery, was that it really built up upper body and arm strength._ ’ Sansa mused as she scrubbed hard at their clothes, before wringing them out and piling them on top of one another.

After soaping and cleaning the laundry, she dumped the water into the river. At first she worried it would pollute it, but Jojen shook his head. “The soaps won’t hurt the river or plant life. The animals might think it tastes disgusting but it won’t kill them either. It’s just soapy water, with dirt in it, and the river is full of dirt, so it’s alright, Sansa.”

Once all the dirty water was out, she used the last of their fresh water to fill the tub and wrung the soap out of the clothes. That water also was dumped into the river when she was done. Piling the wet clothes into her basket, she went once more to the back of the float.

There were two washing lines that were connected to the actual house on one side and to a pole on the edge of the float. They were set up on the left side and stepping around some of the potted plants, she hung and pinned all the wet laundry, knowing the majority will be dry by late after noon.

Once the anchors were pulled up, four fairly heavy rocks tied to each corner of the float, they set sail, meandering lazily down the river. Most of the path ways were large, big enough that they could manoeuvre their home through the swamp.

The way the swamp was set up was that most of the houses were on more of the outskirts of the swamp, with their fresh water supplies and small plots of good farming land towards the middle. It was to make sure they could keep their supplies protected and localised for the dwellers of the swamp. They grew a large supply of their clothing on that land, cotton fields abundant, as well as small rice paddy fields. 

There was also the dumping ground of their waste, where they would compost it for growing herbs and poisons, as not many wanted their waste to be used to grow actual foods. But Sansa thought it to be a very ingenious way to reuse waste and not have it polluting the river.

Whilst Jojen steered and kept an eye on the direction they were going, Sansa climbed up to the attic. It was a low ceiling, having to bend her neck at a weird angle, but once sat down in front of her loom, she could straighten her back. The room was mainly for stoarge, but there was enough space for her to set up a small work room for her sewing and weaving.

With the circular windows open on either side of her, the back and the front of the house, Sansa let the warm breeze flow over her already damp skin, cooling her down. She was built for the cold not the hot, and certainly not the humid heat. Her skin had already reddened over the first two weeks, and had now just started to settle on a subtle tan, freckles in abundance across her face and shoulders.

At first she was upset, having loved her pale and clear skin, but when she noticed the way Jojen would press kisses to her freckles, and how she herself loved the ones that dusted across his nose, she couldn’t help but start to love them herself. A part of her wondered what those of the North would think of her, the winter beauty they proclaimed her as turning tan like the smallfolk from all the outdoor work.

And then she would shrug and get back to her present, not too fussed what strangers thought of her too much anymore. Sansa spent a good few hours up in the attic, weaving back and forth on her loom, the clack of the wood repetitive and relaxing. She was in the process of making some netting for the windows, to see if she could keep the bugs out. If not, well, then the windows would have some lovely cotton curtains. 

At the fresh water area, Sansa still couldn’t stop marvelling at the waterfall. Although it wasn’t bigger than her floating home, still, she had never seen a water fall before. According to Jojen, it came directly from mountains to the north of them, bringing in clean water for them to use. It had a small section of land, enough for people to dock at and move their barrels into the water to collect their supplies.

Once barrels were filled, and Sansa finished dipping her feet into the water from the rocks she was hopping around on, Jojen called her over from where he was talking to a couple of Crannogmen. Two women, a little older than the married couple.

“...and it seemed quite abundant with fish. So I would suggest going west from here if you are looking for some.” She heard one of the women say and Jojen nodded in thanks, clasping forearms with both of their forearms.

“Thank you for the help, Nira.”

Noticing that it was a trade that they were wrapping up, Sansa darted into their home and found the basket of blueberries, practically overflowing with the pretty fruit, sitting on the counter. Pulling out a small basket with a lid from the cupboard, she filled that up and came back out.

Handing it over the blueberries to the women, she smiled at their delighted looks, immediately digging into the traded fruits. With a wave of goodbye, Sansa and Jojen hopped back onto their float, pulled up anchor, and pushed off from the land, departing from the fresh water source.

That was the way it seemed to work here, offering up information for food and supplies, or the other way around. And even if the person didn’t have much or anything to trade, that was generally alright, as Crannogmen took care of one another. They were a tight-knit community. But the courtesy was there, and though they didn’t need to offer up their fruits in return for that free information, Sansa was very good about courtesy.

Jojen however pouted, mumbling, “I can’t believe you gave them some of our berries.”

Kissing him on the cheek in apology, Sansa swiftly headed back up to the attic with a smile.

Besides having to travel to the compost grounds or for fresh water every week or so, that was how life was on the river. Fishing, foraging, hunting, and doing a general upkeep of their home. Sansa found it all more wonderful than what she had ever imagine married life to be like. As a southern wife, she figured besides helping to keep the castle running, if her husband let her, she would spend most of her days sitting and looking pretty.

But here, she had not a castle, but her home felt like one. She did not have time to sit idle, always something needing to be cooked, or fixed, or doing. And in the evening, when they climbed under their netting, Sansa was exhausted, but no less happy.

Sansa was in the midst of checking on the potted plants when a low noise reverberated through the air. A bellow. A war horn. And Jojen, who was in the house came running out, a horn in his hand. They made eye contact, brief and solemn, before he tilted his head up, took a deep breath, a blew.

It was haunting the way the sound echoed through the trees, hearing the answering calls in the distance. Jojen had explained that this was the way they summoned a meeting to the main market.

Or, at least she knows it isn’t just a market. He kept the description obscure, but explained that it was a place in the deepest parts of the swamp that was able to hold all of the Crannogmen. The market was there for more official trading than just passing by through the swamp. It was also where they had their forge and healing unit, where people with major injury or sickness could be taken care of by professionals. But, the all Crannogmen meet there only if it’s something of deep importance. If it’s not, then news is passed on through word of mouth.

Jojen explained that the last time they were Called, when the horn was blown, it was when Robert Baratheon started a war, and Ned Stark summoned his banners.

So to hear the Call, Sansa wondered if her father had finally made his move.

The further they drifted into the swamp, the darker it got. The trees thickened, branches and leaves even covering the afternoon sun. Every now and then a patch of sunlight would manage to filter in, but other than that, they had started to light lanterns and candles. Sansa was impressed with how Jojen was able to steer their home through the nature and the darkness so keenly.

To avoid sweeping branches from knocking things over or pushing them into the water, Sansa had brought in all the plants and scattered tools inside. The coop was nailed down already, and with the chickens locked safely in it, that was all sorted quickly. Once everything was packed safely away into their home, Sansa tucked her skirts sides into her belt and climbed to the roof.

Sitting in front of Jojen’s legs, her own tossed over one side, Sansa watched in silence as they creeped further, deeper, into the dark. Only the sound of water faintly splashing as the oar propelled them forward.

Trepidation filled her as she brushed aside a trailing branch so neither her nor Jojen would be hit by it. she was so happy to sink in the peace that was her married life, mind so far from the plans that she only hypothesised her father was making, that she forget it all. It was stupid of her to forget about it all, but it couldn’t be helped, as now she was reminded, jarred from her blissful newlywed life. 

Sansa did not know what time it was when they arrived. But it was heavily dark, and with only lanterns from other floating homes lighting the way, she did not know what to expect. But finally, after breaking through a waterfall of vines, they arrived at their destination.Gapping in awe at the ginormous tree, Sansa felt no words come to mind for a brief moment, mind completely blank with wonder. It was bigger than any tree she had ever seen. As tall as a castle, and certainly thick enough to hold the same amount of occupants, the tree was carved into the roots and through the inside. There were wooden rope bridges going between the thick branches, as wide as a road, and it was teeming with life as hundreds of floating houses were docked or docking around the tree.

Fires illuminated from the inside, a warm glow beckoning all the Crannogmen forward from the darkness. She continued to stare wide eyed at all the homes that were setting up on the piers that branched out from the tree, the walk ways leading inside, lit by more lanterns, until she was nudged by her husband’s foot out of her stupor. 

As they neared, Jojen stopped steering, letting their momentum carry them forwards, and crouched down besides her.Softly, he explained, his voice low in her ear, “Not many know this, thinking that Moat Cailin was the seat of the Marsh King, and they’re not entirely incorrect. It was. But the _real_ throne of the Marsh King, was _here_. My ancestors found it upon sailing through, along with many of our bannermen houses too.”

Turning to look at him, faces inches apart, she breathed out in astonisment, “Does it have a name?”

Jojen shrugged, pressing a soft kiss on her lips and standing, “Not particularly. The Throne, Marsh King’s Tree, The Tree. All different names, but we all know what the place is, so it does not need an official title.” Hand held out, he pulled her up to stand as well.

They got up and began to climb down once the house was nearer to a pier. From there, another Crannogman was standing, waiting for them to get closer so that they could toss the rope to pull them in. Anchors pushed down, rope tied to a post, they were set.

Sansa wondered if she should change from her usual attire, but by the looks of it, no one was really concerned with appearances.

Filtering into the tree’s roots, Sansa continued to look around with dazzled eyes at the sight of how far up they’ve hollowed into the tree. In nooks and carved out shelves stood candles after candles, the wax melting and dripping down the sides. Lanterns hung on hooks above their heads, and in the centre back of the tree, was a throne.

It was carved from the very tree they stood in, the legs spreading out to lay flush with the wooden floor under her feet, and moss growing in abundance over it. The top had branches arching up like antlers, twisting and sharp, casting strange shadows in the candlelight. Before the imposing throne, stood Lord Howland Reed, who did not sit upon it. At Sansa’s questioning look, Jojen muttered to her, “He feels it’s wrong to sit on a throne of a king that does not exist anymore. Feels it’s disrespectful. Father also doesn’t like the idea of putting himself higher than the rest of our people.”

He kept a hand on her back as they started their way through the crowd, Sansa asking curiously, “Does he live here?”

Jojen’s lips quirked up and shook his head, “No. He has his own house.”

“And your sister?”

“She shares with a few friends of hers.”

Nodding in understanding, they made their way closer to his father, where the men hugged briefly in greeting. When they pulled back, Sansa smiled at her good-father, and clasped his forearm when he reached out in greeting to her.

Her husband looked around and asked, “Where is Meera?”

Howland just shrugged, unworried, “Not here yet.”

But he spoke to soon, as Meera was wading through the crowds to them, smiling and pulling both men into a tight hug. When she got to Sansa, she did the same, much to the younger girl’s surprise. But nonetheless, she returned the gesture, happy that her husband’s family liked her.

The meeting began by the sound of a loud drum being struck thrice, echoing off the wooden walls around them and drawing the Crannogmen to silence. They all turned to watch as Lord Reed went up the steps to the throne and pause in front of it. Turning to face them, he continued to stand as he spoke, a deep worryingly serious expression on his face. That trepidation from earlier became pure dread as he spoke.

“The North has declared it’s independence. Robert Baratheon is dead. And we are at war with the South.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I spent a good hour trying to figure how they deal with their poop cause im that kind of person and when it comes to worldbuilding, i must know how people deal with their poop. So basically, they have their toilet, which is like those old fashioned ones with a seat and a hole. In the hole is a bucket, which when they’ve finished their business, they dump into a large barrel where all the waste and compost go. It has a lid so they can cover the smell. Once full, they take it to the compost grounds, where there are workers who deal with it from there. Now, i know what you think. that is so gross that they use human shit to grow stuff. But it’s only used for herbs and poisons, like i said, cause yeah, i think it’s gross as well. But i really don’t like the idea of just dumping their shit into the water like freaking kings landing. 
> 
> Also, how bathing works, they have a bucket of water and just wipe down with soap and a cloth. Baths are a luxury they dont have, as it’s sorta a waste of water. How they wash their hair, wet it, lather soap, and then rinse. There done. No more than maybe ten minutes. 
> 
> And if you want an idea to what the Tree looked like, if you’ve watched the Avatar movie, the one with the blue tall monkey people, then that is what im thinking of, but like, more swampy and creepy.
> 
> thank you for reading! Until next time


	6. Part 6: bravery and battles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In between fighting, there was friendships to be found and courage to be gained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Read!
> 
> Okay so, heres the dealio. This was not meant to be some epic, political, war, story. It was really meant to be about Sansa and Jojen, and their life together. As well as exploring swamp culture in the neck. So if you find the next chapters to be lacking in terms of battle scenes and political tension, well, it wasn’t meant to be a part of the story to begin with. So im sorry if it disappoints you guys.

Like a drum beat, Sansa’s heart pounded in her ears, as her hand trembled and reached out to Jojen, seeking, _needing_ , support. He cast a concerned look her way, but she minutely shook her head, and just clasped tightly to his larger hand.

Sansa had known her father was planning to separate the North from the rest of the kingdoms, so she doesn’t understand why fear gripped her so tightly. Maybe it was the fact that King Robert was dead, and recalling Jojen’s letter, it’s possible that the Lannisters had their hand in it. Thinking of how much hatred the Queen held for her husband, Sansa wouldn’t be shocked if she was the culprit.

But, Sansa knew her father wanted it to be a bloodless severance, as no person with common sense would want an actual war. But they never said that those of the South had common sense.

“The newly crowned King Eddard of the House Stark, had asked for a peaceful resolution. However, the South, more particularly the Lannisters, are denying our wish. That means, The Neck will hold as the North’s first defence from the South, as we have done for centuries.”

From there, Lord Reed went on to explaining and assigning stations and watch rotations. He did it all with ease, and Sansa was reminded that he was in a war once before, and know he would have to be in one again. Sansa was a little startled though, when he began to talk about wargs, squeezing Jojen’s hand to gain his attention. Eyes still on his father, he leant down to give her his ear.

“Wargs exist here?”

At her hushed confusion, he nodded, and murmured back, “They should exist farther up North as well. I’m certain there are those in your family that are wargs.”

Blinking in confusion, she looked into his eyes, searching for humour bu only found severity. Humming in thought, Sansa asked, “Theory or seer ability?” Thinking that mabye he knew through otherworldly means.

Instead though, he side-eyed her and gave a secretive smile, “Call it intuition.” That had her laughing softly, but with her nerves all in a buzz, it came out weak. 

Sensing her unease and worry at the turn of events, he leant closer and pressed a firm kiss to her head in reassurance, “We know how to deal with enemies here, Sansa. Do not worry.”

Letting out a shaky exhale, Sansa nodded, trusting his words. However, “I know it’s just. What will I be doing?” And thinking about it, she wasn’t made for war. She was a lady, not made to fight or council on battle strategies. Maybe she would help with supplies, making medicines and providing healing.

But when he looked forward again in thought, pondering out loud, Jojen took her off guard. “As an archer, I presume you will be near the edges to take down enemies that stray near our borders, picking them off. But as you are technically a princess...”

Bewildered, Sansa thought about his words, and realised that, yes, he was correct. With her knowing archery, and being fairly good at it, it wouldn’t be unusual to have her fighting. It didn’t matter that she was a female here, when it came to such things, gender didn’t matter in the swamp. So, at Jojen’s understanding gaze, she firmly shook her head at the way out he was providing for her. It was true, she did not wish to fight and didn’t have to if she pulled rank. But the Crannogmen needed all hands on deck so to speak, and she would not back down out of fear and not provide the help they will need. “No. I will fight.” And looked up at him with eyes blazing with determination “Crannogmen do not really care much about station and nobility, and I am a Crannog.” At her resolute tone, he smiled at her, proud.

“Go to Meera.” He nodded in the direction of his sister who was standing off to the side wit ha group of archers, “She will explain your duties.”

Sansa began to move in that direction but froze, turning to him with trepidation. “And you?” Said softly, knowing that what he would say, she would not like.

Jojen shrugged, either not sensing her dread or trying to stay relaxed in the face of her anxious state. “I am not the best with archery. I will more than likely be here, helping my father with his duties as heir.” 

Closing her eyes at his confirmation of her dread, Sansa stated, trying to stop the well of tears that wished to burst out. “We will be separating.” They had only been together for a month and Sansa already knew she never wanted to leave his side. And now she had to. Opening her eyes back up, Sansa spotted his expression, softened with sadness at her heartbroken tone.

“Yes.” He breathed out, matching her ache, and Sansa felt her hand turn into an iron grip as she held him for as long as she could, knowing time was dwindling. Around them, Crannogmen talked and planned, but they just stared at one another, and Sansa tried to remember everything about him in that moment.

The meeting broke up, many of the masses dividing in groups to discuss and prepare, and Jojen nudged her forward, following after. They stepped up the Lord Reed first before going to Meera, and her good-father beckoned them closer.

Speaking low, so that others might not hear, Lord Reed began, “This will be disclosed to you, Sansa, as Jojen already knows.” He pulled out a letter from his pocket, and she noticed the Stark seal on it, “Lord Arryn died because he learnt that the royal children, all three of them are illegitimate, products of incest between the Queen and her twin brother.”

She was gobsmacked, unable to believe such a thing. Insect!? She knew the Targaryens practised that, but it was still disgusting. And the fact that she didn’t provide even a singular royal heir was idiotic and dangerous. “You dreamt this?” Hushed and frantic, she said to her husband, who nodded and going by the subtle downturn of his mouth, it wasn’t a pleasant dream. Though sympathetic, her mind continued to whirl as her good-father continued, “King Robert died on a hunt, where he drank to much wine and was impaled by a board tusk.”

The contemplative expression had her saying more than asking, “You don’t believe that though, do you, my Lord.”

He met her eyes, not as bright as a green as Jojen’s but still the same shade. They were heavy and grave as he replied, “I believe he died that way, yes. But I know, that there were other circumstances that led to his death.”

Her face stays blank as she responds softly into the meaningful silence, “The Lannisters.”

He nodded solemnly, “Correct.” then he continued on with his information, “Joffrey Baratheon has taken the throne. Your father’s letter to leave the Seven Kingdoms, reached Robert too late. The newly crowned King Joffrey received it instead, and refused to accept.”

Gritting her teeth, she felt irritation bubble hard in her stomach. “And now he wants to go to war.” She muttered derisively, remembering the horrible boy that visited her home. ‘Of course he would be eager to send men to their deaths.’ Sansa thought with disgust. Some people shouldn’t be rulers.

Lord Reed let out a tired sigh, rubbing at her eyes, and Sansa could see the exhaustion so plainly on his face. “He won’t be fighting. His grandfather will. And Lord Twyin Lannister, is a fearsome opponent to be up against.” His grim words had anxiety spiking up, wondering what kind of a man the famed Lord Tywin Lannister was on the battlefield. 

And then Jojen spoke, his quiet and solemn voice drawing their attention. His words soothed her worries once more, and Sansa couldn’t help the fondness at how easy it was for him to read her emotional states, and know exactly how to help. “But, no one, no matter how fearsome, has breeched these waters. Only a dragon could, and they do not have any dragons.” 

The three of them shared an unwavering look, and Sansa finally asked earnestly, “What do you need from me?”

Her good-father’s eyes sparked with approval as he told her, “Join Meera. She is in charge of scouting and watching along the south-eastern border of The Neck. It would be best if you packed some supplies, as you will be staying with her in her home.”

Bowing her head in understanding, “Understood, Lord Reed.”

After talking with Meera, getting the list of supplies she would need to bring, Sansa met up with Jojen again, who seemed to be going over his own list of necessary supplies that had to be accounted for and gathered. Leant against one of the wooden walls, Sansa stood next to him, practically radiating with tension. Looking away from his lest, Jojen turned her way, gaining her attention. “Sansa. You must remember that you are a princess, a _Stark princess._ ” At his emphasis, Sansa couldn’t help how her words came out near hysteric.

“And what does _that_ entail? Sitting around and ordering those who know this land better than I?” And in a fit of aggravation, she tossed her hands up in the air to stress upon her confusion and exasperation.

He huffed, and he appeared amused by her frantic questions, but answered them anyways no matter how silly she felt asking them. Placing a soothing hand on her shoulder, he spoke with a calm resolution, “It means that they look to you for morale. For _hope_. Yes, you are not of these lands by birth. But do not think that you aren’t one of us. Just like any child born here, you learn. You _have_ learnt. And you shall continue to do so.” Sansa gave a small smile, grateful for his words.

Then he spoke once more, “And, if by chance King Eddard and Prince Robb fall, you will be the next ruler.”

Startled, Sansa had to take a second to understand his words. Then spoke with words laced with cynicism, “I am a woman. They would not have me.” And that was the sad truth of it all, how many birth rights were overlooked and cast aside for a man instead of a woman. The Mormonts were an exception sadly, and Sansa wished there were more houses like that in the North.

As if sensing her doubt, he handed a letter to her, the one that his father had before. Taking it with only slight hesitation, Sansa unrolled it as Jojen spoke, “Here, the letter from your father to mine. I’m sure your’s is on it’s way though, explaining everything.”

Skipping over the parts that Lord Reed already explained, Sansa got to the bit she was desperate to read.

‘ _...With the way things seem to be, I plan for Robb to take the throne after we have won the war. I am not made to be king, but I believe that he is. He is a strong young man, who I can trust to rule well and justly. And if by some turn of events, that Robb is unable to take to throne, I would name Sansa as my next heir._

_I love my children dearly, and I know them well. Jon has given his vows for the Night’s Watch, so I know he can not break them, nor would he. My son Bran would not be fit for the throne, and neither would Rickon. Arya, perhaps, given time. But Sansa, I trust to rule the North. But gods be good it does not come to such circumstances._

_Keep her safe for me, Howland_.’

Looking up in disbelief, eyes nearly red with emotion, Sansa hoarsely said, “The Northern lords would not accept my right to rule.”

Jojen’s hands came up to cup her cheeks, and she stared deeply into his bright, green eyes. “They would.” He said with such finality and pure belief that she had to accept his words fully. “But, for now, do not think so much on it. Your brother is still safe and well.”

He placed a soft kiss to her lips, and she returned just as gently, needing some tender in this tense situation. Pulling away, Sansa allowed herself a moment to take in everything about him in the warm low light, his hair looking amber, before steeling herself. “Right.” she nodded to herself, and then repeated more firmly, “ _Right_. I need to pack.” And with that she turned and strode out of the meeting, into the dark, damp air. Jojen was right on her heels, and Sansa felt that ache again at knowing their time was cut short.

She had hoped for longer with him, but it seemed that the gods were not in their favour. ‘ _But it won’t be forever._ ’ Sansa reminded herself as they stepped into their home.

The weight of everything seemed to fall onto her shoulders as she looks around her home. It had only been a month, but to leave it felt like leaving Winterfell again. Pursing her lips to stop them from trembling, Sansa marched to the upstairs, knowing there was a basket or satchel of some kind up there that she could use, and tried to ignore the sting of tears. 

Up there, she had to pause to allow her composure to crack in her solitude, a shaken breath leaving her lips. But, sniffling once, Sansa went to finding a weaved basket that goes over your shoulders. Once finding what she was looking for, Sansa climbed back down, not glancing once at Jojen as she headed into their room. Her mind was filling with thoughts of what would be practical to bring and wear, going over the list in her head, thinking anything to cover up the ache of not knowing when she would see her husband again.

Facing her clothes, she heard Jojen come closer, and warm arms snaked around her waist. Sansa was pulled into his chest and she felt how his own hands trembled. He was not as unaffected by their separation as it seemed at that was the final crack in her resolve. One hand gripped his arm fiercely, _desperately_ , and the other flew to her mouth to stifle the sob that tried to come out.

It felt pathetic to cry over such a departure, but she couldn’t help herself. Turning around in his arms, she pulled him into an aching kiss, and he returned it just as intensely. The strength behind their lips was one she had never left, filled with such distress over their soon departure. Parting with a gasp, Sansa commanded with urgency, “No matter what, you can not die. I do not know where this war will take us. But you will come back to me.” It does not matter that he is supposed to be so deep into the swamp, anything could happen. And Sansa would not let him die on her.

Pressing a searing kiss once more to her lips, Jojen whispered into the dim candle light, “No gods nor man could take me from you, Sansa.”

The wet ground sank with every foot fall, as she bolted through the tree line, following the river as it bent and curved. Breath panted loud as she smelt the prey coming closer with every inch her legs ate up.

Slowing down, she weaved through the bushes and brambles, barely a sound to be heard with each step, and then paused.

Blue eyes looked through the thick foliage at the men not too far from her hiding spot. Keen ears flicked with every noise, and she listened.

The crunch of wheels on stone was the loudest noise, but what she was more interested in was the conversation.

“-easy on the steering, you idiot! This is a fragile cargo.” One man barked.

The other yelled back, frustrated. “I know! I can’t help the way the road is!”

And then a pause in conversation. She followed through the brush swiftly, needing to keep up with the cart as it continued to move. “What even is in those barrels anyways?” The second man asked.

A grunt, “Probably best you don’t know.”

“Ah, go on.” The second one cajoled, and the first man gave in easily.

“Poison apparently.” Her fur stood on end in anger, feeling her lips curls back.

“‘ _Poison_ ’? In giant barrels like these?” 

“Look, all I know is that we deliver it to the Lannister camp near the east of The Neck and be done with it.”

The second one hummed and asked again, “What do you think they’ll be doing with it?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“You must have theory. Poison arrows maybe?”

The first scoffed, “Nah, must be for the river.”

“Poisoning the river?” At the sound of his disbelief, she felt herself agreeing readily with that emotion.

The first seemed to say with hush tones, “Well, they say them Crannogmen never leave their swamp. And it’s never been breeched. I think, that Tywin Lannister will poison them, kill off their food supplies. That would destroy them from the inside out.” His theory sounded the most likely, and she hurried to get ahead so that she could attack and stop the delivery in it’s tracks.

“Fuck, I don’t want to be on the wrong side of him.”

“Well you will if you keep on driving the cart like a mad man!”

At that last tone of annoyance, her teeth started to bare once more, the lips pulling back in a snarl as she got ready to lunge, but the sound of horses had her stilling. Soldiers dressed in red and gold came trotting over, and it seemed to be best to retreat instead. Turning tail, she rushed back into the forest, following back towards the swamp.

With a gasp, Sansa sat up from her bedding, and around her there was sudden chatter, asking frantic questions. But before she could respond she had to get her mind back into being a human rather than a wolf. Taking deep breaths, Sansa flexed her fingers, feeling skin instead of fur. A soft voice next to her ear helped her focus on the present too, and after rubbing at her eyes, trying to get rid of sleep, Sansa looked up at the faces staring down at her. Meera, the one who was talking to calm her down, was still keeping a tight grip on her shoulders.

A wooden cup of water was held to her mouth, and she took greedy gulps before finally speaking.

“The Lannisters. They’re going to poison the waters.”

The women around her shared faces of shock and fear, before fixing into pure determination, not once to linger on panic. Meera began to bark out orders around heras Sansa continued to gather herself.

It had been six months since she and Jojen separated and Sansa left with Meera. She shared her good-sister’s home with three other girls for awhile, and they sailed towards the south-eastern border. On the way, they collected a few other girls from their own floats, and piled into Meera’s. It was a tight fit, and the human body heat on top of the already humid weather made everything very sweaty. But after sorting out bedding and mosquito nets, it was an easy adjustment.

They headed towards one of the main parts of The Neck that got a lot of travel, being so close to the King’s Road. From there, they scouted along the border for Lannister men, picking them off and dwindling their numbers until they retreated. This repeated a few times, each time the enemies trying to get closer to aim into to swamp trees. But it was difficult for them to do so with not being able to see the Crannogmen, and the fact that between the heavy tree line into the swamp was a wide river. To even use boats to get a closer aim into the swamp would be suicide for the enemies. Finally though, they seemed to stop trying to attack that way, learning it was more of a disadvantage on their part than the Crannogmen, and retreated back South.

After that it was quiet. News from the North told Sansa that they had ships bringing enemies to their western shores, and so far the North had managed to valiantly defend their kingdom. She had also received that letter Jojen had mentioned, and in it, it reiterated the same as what Lord Reed’s letter had said. Sansa took comfort in knowing how much her father trusted her.

During the time they had to rest, Sansa had started to have dreams of running through the woods and lands, and it wasn’t until she began to explain her dreams to Meera, that her good-sister told her about possibly being a warg.

It took Sansa sometime to come around to that fact, disbelief at having an ability that was seen as a curse in Old Nan’s stories. Meera was her anchor through all this though, softly coaching her through her ability, until she could slip into Lady even when awake. And every night she would become Lady and keep watch around her home.

But on top of finding out she was a warg, Sansa had to cope with the horrifying fact that she had become a _killer_. Though she would do it all again for the sake of her home and family, but when her arrow first struck a soldier down, Sansa vomited. It was in the middle of an attack on their part, a large group of soldiers ‘ _Ripe for the picking_.’ One girl had said. So when she first realised she had taken a life, Sansa had fell to her knees and vomited, whilst the girls continued to fire upon the Lannister men. Afterwards, the girls were there to help her, and Sansa couldn’t fault them for putting the fight first.

Death was not something she had ever known, especially by her own hands. And looking at the other girls, and seeing their pale faces, Sansa was confronted with the fact that none of these girls, no matter how well they handled themselves, have ever taken a life or been a war themselves.

In the end though, after that first time, she had to be dragged away from the tree line by one of the other girls, Dylinah. Her hands shook too much to be of use and it was dangerous for her to be so frozen so close to danger.

But next time. Next time she did not shake. And Sansa did not like what that meant that she could so easily recover from killing. And her anchor, Meera, was soft but firm in her ear explaining and helping her focus on anything that wasn’t her becoming a killer.

“I know you know they are people. We do too. But this is war. And it’s either you or them. You can not think of them as people, or else you will go mad.”

Licking her lips after taking a swig of water to get rid of the taste of acid, Sansa hoarsely asked, “And after the war?”

Slumping against the side of a tree, Meera assured her, “After the war, you can go mad then.”

And they shared wry smiles.

Now, Sansa stuffed a breakfast of fish and rice into her mouth hurriedly, not even caring to remember her manners. Around her many girls, all shoved into Meera’s home talk and plan with one another, whilst Sansa was writing out a quick letter to send to the front lines in between bites.

The good thing about being a warg, Sansa thought as she rolled the paper and tied, was that she could ensure all letters reached their destination. With that in mind, she handed the letter to Meera, flumped back down onto her bedding, and warged into the nearest bird.

Tromping through the swamp, the water low enough for them to wade through, as their float would’ve just gotten stuck, Sansa could feel herself once again thankful of Meera. She had provided some loose breeches for her to move better in without her skirt getting caught, even when tucked up.

So with breeches rolled up to her knees, sandals tucked into her belt pouch, Sansa moved with the group. They were connecting with another further south where Sansa guessed the Lannisters would be gathering. Every now and then, they would pause for her to warg and keep an eye on the enemies, before continuing on. 

She was a little grossed out with feeling mud between her toes, but the water was cool in the humid heat, and she soon got used to it. Shifting the small pack on her shoulder, and taking a glance down at the quiver of arrows on her belt, Sansa sped up to match pace with the rest of the girls.

They were a group of ten, varying from thirteen to twenty, Meera being the eldest. At first she was confused by why just girls, but Meera grinned slyly, “I made this team, and I want all girls. Besides, I like girls better than boys.”

There was Dylinah, Sansa’s age, a pair of twin girls Sull and Gale, around fourteen. Tullah, the youngest and Dylinah’s cousin. Louiesa, seventeen, Shrike and Egret, another set of sisters, though with Shrike being nineteen and Egret fifteen. Lastly, Anath, twenty.

With so many different personalities, Sansa was afraid they would all clash, but instead, they melded well with one another, balancing out their weak points and flaws. And though they all seem to know one another more, Sansa did not feel excluded, slowly being drawn into their circle. They chatted as they journeyed onwards, trading snacks and sometimes flicking bugs off of once another’s shoulders. Besides Jeyne, Sansa had never felt such closeness to other girls, the bond forged in battle and war. 

Was this what old soldier talked about? About those that they trusted to watch their backs as they foot tooth and limb to survive? Watching the way they smiled and lit up as they laughed, Sansa knew she would put her life in their hands, and knew they would do the same.

Tightening her brown scarf around her very noticeable hair, Sansa slowed her stride as Meera held up her fist for them to halt after noticing movement ahead. Making a gesture for them to duck down and hide, they all did swiftly and quietly.

Their clothes a mixture of brown and greens, reeds and plants and moss being tucked in and added to their clothes, they easily blended in with their surroundings. Gripping her bow tightly, Sansa peered through the reeds at Meera as she made a bird call, only distantly noting that her breeches were getting further soaked in her crouched position.

Holding her breath, the ten of them stayed still and silent with their eyes peeled to their surroundings, until the reply came. Her nerves calmed once Meera gave the go ahead, and stood up with the rest of them. Trying to relax her tense shoulders, Shrike came up and nudged her side with a grin. Despite how tired they all seemed to have grown over the months, never once did they let it take over their moods. In battle, wired and fraught emotions could lead to an injury or mistake.

“Doing alright there, Snow?”

Snow was a nickname they had given her, seeing as she came from a place of snow not swamp, and one night complained about missing the cold. It was all in good fun, and Sansa didn’t particularly mind that it was a last name given to noble bastards.

It made her think of her half-brother Jon, missing him all the way up at the Wall.

Shaking her thoughts away, Sansa focused on the present.

They were meeting up with those on the most central front line of the south part, and with her news of the poisoning of the river, they needed to join with the actual teams instead of just sending letter back and forth via warging.

Studying all the new faces, trying to find a familiar one under all the mud, Sansa was disappointed at not seeing her husband. ‘ _He is more than likely going over supplies deeper in the swamp._ ’

Jojen was not the best with archery or many other weapons. There were a few here and there, but they would not be beneficial on the battle ground or on the patrols and archer teams. Instead he was more focused on gathering food and water supplies, getting them shipped over to the front lines, as well as strategising and making plans.

Because of all that, he wasn’t on the front lines, and Sansa had not seen him since they first split. When laying in her bed roll at night, staring up at the canopy, she could almost recall the sensation of his skin on her’s.

It seemed that as they were getting more comfortable and closer to one another, they were separated once more. ‘ _However, yearning makes the heart fonder. Or so the saying goes._ ’ Sansa thought to herself wistfully.

Which then caused for Anath to smirk in her direction over Meera’s shoulder, who was talking to the other group leader, and wink in Sansa’s direction.

Knowing that her longing expressions for her husband had become well known in the group, Sansa flushed and looked away, pouting to herself.

What they never talked about, when it came to war. Was how much gods damn sitting and waiting there was. Slapping a mosquito that landed on her arm, she huffed and shifted subtly in her hiding spot.

It had been a week since they connected with the other groups, and a plan was made. They had to act fast, so that the poison wasn’t poured in and destroyed their waters. Because Crannogmen were not meant for the battle field, they planned with subterfuge and what many would say ‘ _dishonourable_ ’ tactics.

Like it wasn’t dishonourable to _poison_ their land.

The Lannister’s camp with the poison was some yards away from the river line into the swamp. They were far enough away to not be hit with arrows but close enough to easily dump the toxin in.It was a stalemate, seeing as the Crannogmen would not meet them on the battlefield, and the Lannisters would not breech their waters, but now with the added poison, that had been disrupted.

Though their enemy did not know that they knew about it, which gave the Crannogmen an advantage. All they needed was a few wargs, a boat, and some well done chaos.

The plan was that further down the river, a group of four would cross and sneak into the camp at night. Blending in with the tall grass and the shadows, two would set fire to a random tent, and the other two would be on the other side of the camp, where the poison would be. From there, the ones that set fire would release the horses stabled on the outskirts of the camp, letting them trample across the enemies, hopefully killing many.

The poison would be dumped onto the grass, useless and unable to affect their waters.

It was a well crafted plan, simple. And so very dangerous.

Shifting once more, Sansa noticed Meera give her the signal, and leaning back into Anath to keep track of her body, she warged.

Into a bird, Sansa flew through the night air, following the group of four across the river. Next to her was another bird, another wrag, soaring along the dark sky with her. And when they flew downward to the group who would create the diversion, they split. Sansa followed after the two who would be dumping the poison, leading them swiftly and silently through the long grass.

Sansa could feel the little heart of the bird beat fast at her exhilaration and anxiety towards their mission. When they got to the outskirts of the camp, they crouched a waited, Sansa landing on one of their shoulders. Soon enough, there was smoke trailing high into the air, yelling of panic, and after a moment of watching the orange flames paint shadows across land, they took off at a dead sprint, keeping low to the ground.

Running low, Sansa flittered high above them to gain her bearings, and spotted the tent she had scouted earlier. With that direction in mind, she came back down and led the two Crannogmen to the poison.

It was a tense affair, with Sansa keeping watch, reading to chirp a warning. As they started to dump the barrels, the yelling became cries of fear, over taken by the horses screaming, and sped up their movements so they could leave without getting caught in the stampede. The hooves were loud and thundering, the sound of destruction not too far from them, and the two Crannogmen picked up their pace even more, hurriedly dumping the poison onto the ground. And then someone stumbled into the tent, Sansa chirping loud at the new occupant.

The Lannister soldier stood wide-eyed and full of terror from the chaos happening just outside the tent, whilst the two Crannogmen whirled around. Sansa reacted first, instinctively, flying into the soldier’s face and using her small feet to claw, scratch, and confuse, giving the men enough time to drive a knife into the soldier’s neck. They lowered him to the ground and dragged the body further into the tent so as not to draw attention.

Flying overhead, to make sure that her part of the group got out safely, Sansa observed the damage, and was viciously pleased by the fires and havoc below her. Further ahead, the other two were leaving as well, and Sansa allowed herself to sink away from the bird’s mind.

With the success of their plan and the destruction of the Lannister camp, the enemies pulled back, once more unable to breech The Neck. Sansa figured they would have to invade through the shores of the North than up through the south. The King’s Road and Moat Cailin continued to be guarded and deadly for anyone trying to cross.

It was another three months of keeping watch and noticing how the Lannister’s retreated quite swiftly after the destruction of their camp, they were no longer willing to try and fight them. A part of Sansa wondered if The Neck would ever be invaded, and hoped that it wouldn’t be in her life time.

And then finally, a parley was called.

With the guards watching the outskirts of the swamp, Sansa was pulled back with Meera and her team to the Tree. Sailing down the river on her good-sister’s float, Sansa took the time to wash off the months of grime from her face and hair, relieved to be able to feel clean once more.

And sure, maybe she wanted to look nice for reuniting with Jojen again, but Sansa valiantly ignored the other girls’ giggling and teasing as she pulled on her clothes. Back into the familiarity and comfort of skirts, Sansa belted on her tools, keeping her quiver added to the lot and slung her bow over her shoulder as they docked.

Fiddling with the leather bracers on her arm, Sansa knew that thought they were planning for a treaty to be written and enacted, they were still at war. And it’s best to be prepared for anything.

With Meera next to her and the rest of the girls at her back, Sansa strode down the pier, almost trembling with excitement at seeing her husband once more. But as they got close to the entrance, one of the girls wrapped their arms over her shoulders, and she flailed with being caught off balance.

“We’re going to miss you, Snow!” Cried Louiesa, the one who had her in a stranglehold. And Tullah came bouncing forward and embracing her around the waist. Which seemed to be the signal for the rest of the group to come into a massive group hug.

Sniffling, trying to not burst into ugly sobs, Sansa knew she would miss the camaraderie from months of practically living in one another’s pockets. She didn’t even realise how much she had come to rely on their banter and comforts, like her and Arya were with one another. These girls had become her sisters, her _family_.

Giving into the need to cry, Sansa held on tight to what ever limbs she managed to make contact with. “ _Oh no!_ ” Wailed Gale, “Now I’m crying cause _you’re_ crying!” And they fell into wet laughter.

Stepping into the Tree roots, wiping at her red rimmed eyes, Jojen froze at the sight of Sansa. He was in the middle of listening to his father speak about a report, when movement caught his eye. Since being told that Meera and her team were being pulled back from the front lines, he had been on edge for a week, jumping at anyone new coming into the meeting hall. He was getting frustrated with all the false alarms, that when he looked up this time, not really expecting it to be her, he was caught off guard.

Because, _finally_ , she was here.

He let himself observe her for a moment, watching how she carried herself with a confident ease, a posture that he hadn’t seen since she was in Winterfell. Coming to The Neck, there was a constant uncertainty, even if it was subtle, about her in her new surroundings. She would look to him for direction on dealing with the everyday life in the swamp, not knowing if she was making a mistake or not. 

And she walks without that now. Grinning at the team she was with, her eyes started to dart around and landed on him. He was breathless as they stared for a suspended amount of time. And then he ran forward.

They met in the middle, his hands tangling in her hair as she pulled him close, _closer_. Lips meeting with urgency, and Jojen had mourned their loss before but now, the absence of them had reared up at finally being able to kiss his wife, the sensation practically suffocating.

Uncaring of their audience, they fell into their own bubble of reunion, pulling away from her lips so that he could hold her tightly. He didn’t even realise he was whispering her name with such relief and reverence until Sansa pulled away once more to cup his cheeks, words pausing in their mumbles.

Her blue eyes scrutinised him, looking over him for any injuries, and Jojen did the same. Crannogmen did not fight face to face, nor on battlefields. But that didn’t mean that the enemy couldn’t shoot arrows into the tree line where his people would lie in wait.

Fingertips tracing her jaw and cheek bones, he noticed a near invisible scar on her hairline. When he brushed over it, Sansa huffed, as if annoyed with herself, “An arrow nearly got me. Shrike pulled me out of fire.” He tensed at her words and fixing his gaze to his sister’s group, he found said girl. Shrike gave him a firm, reassuring nod at his glance. He was indebted to her, and she knew that. But that was a minor detail with the knowledge that Sansa was back, alive and safe now.

Pressing a firm kiss to Sansa’s forehead, he whispered for just her ears, “I love you so much, Sansa.”

Her lip trembled as she gapped up at him, eyes wide and stunned. They seemed to both realise in that instant that they’ve never told one another those words, and his heart soared as she whispered back with such aching tenderness, “I love you too, Jojen.”

The reunion did not last long, as they had a war to finish and a treaty to draw up. With hands clasped tightly together, Jojen listened as his father talked, Sansa by his side listening just as intently. The meeting though could not damper how light he felt with his wife by his side again. How _right_ it was for them to be so near to each other.

But trying to focus, Jojen followed along with his father’s words. To send their king to the parley, when the Lannister’s wouldn’t send their own, would be a mistake and cause for possible death. So instead they would be sending emissaries to do the discussions. The Lannisters would send Tywin, understandable as he was a war general and knew politics better than his grandson.

The Stark would be sending-

“Me?” Sansa blurted out, and he felt her hand tighten in his with shock and fear.

His father’s exhausted features softened with a kind amusement, “You _were_ the one who planted the seed for independence in your father’s mind, Sansa. It’s almost fitting that you would be finishing the war.”

“But-“

Firmly, his father cut off her protest, “Sansa, you are a Northern Princess.” And at her title, her mouth clicked shut. Jojen squeezed her hand in silent comfort, and and she returned the gesture. Meanwhile, his father continued, “You have the largest part of the North under your rule technically, and you are very familiar with what the North needs when it comes to a treaty. Your father has sent a letter along with what he would want, but trusts you to finalise it all.”

Biting her lip, Sansa seemed to think of another alternative, and Jojen was disheartened by her lack in belief in herself. “What about Robb? He is the next ruler of the North, not me!”

“Sansa.” Jojen stepped in, softly getting her to calm down. She took a shaking breath after a pause, and he noticed how she forced her shoulders to relax. There was a brief moment of silence, before Sansa nodded to his father, letting him know he could continue.

There was no lack of sympathy in his father’s eyes. “The truce near Moat Cailin and it would take too long to have him travel down.”

“And we want this to be over with as soon as possible.” She finished as looked away, understanding his logic but not liking it. Jojen, noticing how conflicted she was at her new role as an emissary, let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulder, bringing her close to his body. Sansa pushed in, seeking the comfort he offered. But despite her doubts and misgivings, he believed in her. She would not falter nor fail in achieving independence for their kingdom. Jojen whole-heartedly believed that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst, Meera is a lesbian 
> 
> Alright, one more chapter i believe and then this can be over with. Thank you for reading!


	7. Part 7: an end and a beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the story comes to a close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, like i said last chapter, sorry if its underwhelming with all the politics and shit.

Though the weather was mildly warm, the sky was grey, overcast above them. The Gatehouse Tower of Moat Cailin stood tall and imposing behind them, as Sansa waited for the Lannister retinue. With her was Lord Reed and Jojen, along with many Crannogmen hidden about in the ruins of the once ginormous castle.

It was strange to be back into a gown, having lived nearly a near in her breeches and tunics. The weight of the dress was a comfort and annoyance. She liked how it covered all her skin, still not used to showing it so much even in the swamp. But the heaviness of the dress had her worrying over how fast she could pull out an arrow from her quiver if need be.

The dress was plain, a simple grey dress, with embroidered wolves and lizard-lions in a subtle green around the bodice and hem. Her usual belt was tight on her waist, though it lacked the axe and machete.

Their plan was to greet the Lannisters and then move into the Gatehouse Tower, where a table had been set up for them to discuss the treaty. From there, Sansa hoped it passed quickly and without too many problems.

Rustle of movement had Sansa glancing over to the tall grass and spotted Lady, who came trotting to her. Bending down to scratch at her large head, Sansa could feel herself tensing. If Lady was here that meant that the Lannisters were not too far behind, the wolf wanting to stay near her master with danger nearby.

And soon enough, banners of golden and red flapped proudly in the wind, Lord Lannister riding at the front of the small group, looking terrifying as she had imagined. His hair was blond but greying, and those cat like green eyes that she saw in Cersei were just as menacing.

She only gave a small curtsey as he dismounted, striding to her with a cold air of indifference.

“Thank you for coming so swiftly, Lord Lannister.”

“Princess Sansa. Shall we get on with it then?” He said her title, but the derision was prominent in his words.

Smiling, Sansa ignored it and nodded, directing him to follow. “Of course, my Lord.”

Aa she led him into the tower, Lady moved ahead of them and she noticed how Tywin had paused for a split second at the massive creature next to her. She hoped that would dissuade any possible threats. Settling across from him at the table, there was a heavy silence as they observed one another, before finally he spoke, a low growl to his voice.

“Besides your demands for independence. Was there anything else your kingdom demanded?” She managed not to bristle at how irritated he sounded, as if she wanted to be here as well. 

Still keeping to her manners, Sansa began with saying, “We would be happy to continue trade with the other kingdoms, as lumber and wool are out main supplies. Just because we have a different king does not mean we are to seclude ourselves entirely.” It was an opening to begin discussing trade, but it seemed that the lord still had some misgivings about this treaty.

An unimpressed expression was plain as day as he drawled, “And how do you think you will be able to keep peace between the North and the rest of the kingdoms?”

Hands clenched in her lap, Tywin could not see her tension as she answered, unimpressed with his attitude, “Well, I assume like how the kingdoms managed to keep peace before the Targaryen rule. With alliances and trade, just like what we are offering.” Trying to bring him back to the matter at hand but he just rose an eyebrow.

“Alliances.”

The polite smile fell as she looked at him unimpressed, “My lord, I am not so naive to think that everyone can just get along.” Here she couldn’t stop the roll of her eyes as she dryly remarked, “No, that is apparently something that many find very difficult to do, so I don’t hold out hope. But, war is not the way to go when it comes to differences.”

He snorted, “Then you shouldn’t have started one to begin with.”

Behind her right shoulder, she heard Jojen shift subtly, and Sansa couldn’t hold back her annoyance as she pointed out coldly, “But _we_ didn’t. _Your_ grandson did. And even _after_ he declared war, we did not attack. _You did_. We were always on the defence, protecting out lands, our people, and our borders. From the very start, _the North_ , did not start this war. We just wanted a peaceful removal from under the Iron Throne.”

A scoff and Tywin rumbled low, “Peace is an ignorant ideal, especially in these circumstances. A child’s wish.” His mocking was tiring. With a sigh, she decided to be frank with him, airing our her frustrations with the older generations.

Laying her hands flat on the table, Sansa fixed him with a firm look and said, “To be honest, Lord Lannister, I don’t see why we should continue to squabble over a title, and a hunk of metal, that was forced upon us by foreign invaders a measly two centuries ago. I do not understand why we didn’t go back to the way we were after Robert’s Rebellion. The Targaryen’s are gone from these lands, so why should we continue to follow their rules? We ruled our kingdoms for over thousands of centuries compared to their short dynasty.” These were all points she argued with her father years ago, and now she had argued them again. Then, sitting back almost indifferent with her speech, Sansa airily remarked, “But I guess, that is just the thoughts of an ignorant child.” 

At his silence and calculating stare, she then leant forward in her chair, speaking with heavy warnings, “You may continue to fight the North. But you will _not_ win. You will throw soldier after soldier at our borders, and you _will not win_. When all the men are dead, and your people have starved, funding this war, we. _The North._ Will still be standing.”

After that, the meeting managed to move forward into trade and treaty, much to her relief. Despite being enemies, Sansa could admit that he was an intelligent man, once you got past the fact that he looked down on literally everyone he talked to, and knew how to forge a contract. He made no mention of Joffrey, as if the boy was more a title than his king, not even caring to think about running these plans by him in the future. Even Sansa could see that the real ruler of the South was Tywin Lannister.

When it came to a close, over an hour or so later, Sansa stood up from her seat at the same time he did. She was relieved for this to finally be over, holding the scroll of the treaty and trading deal in her hand. Walking out, Sansa spoke once more, turning to meet his eyes, “I do not know much of your culture in the Westerlands, my Lord.” With an amused huff, she continued, “I guess that was the folly with the Targaryens was that they tried to rule over people with so different of a life style. But I do know that, if you became the King of the West, like your ancestors were, I would support that claim.”

He looked completely unimpressed with her words, eyebrow once more raised, “You would so easily decide that the Northern army would support me?”

A laugh left her, “The army?” Before shrugging, “Perhaps not. But our kingdom couldn’t fault you for wanting independence too. We would not fight for you, but we would not fight against you either.” And that was the only thing she could offer in terms of alliance, and he registered that with a nod.

As they stepped out into the daylight, happy to finally be leaving, Sansa suddenly felt her arm tugged to the side, and a large body blocked her sight. A whistle through the air ended with the body jerking from a hit, Stumbling back under the weight, her hands came up to grip the shoulders of the person.

“Lord Reed!?” She cried out in confusion and fear, recognising his face and then heard Jojen yell, “ _Father_!”

The older man then began to slump down to the ground, Sansa curling her arms around him to support his dead weight as much as possible, and noticed an arrow jutting out of his shoulder. An arrow meant for her.

Now kneeling, Sansa quickly took in the situation, seeing how a Lannister guard held a cross bow in her direction, and fear began to consume her. ‘ _Was this all a trap!?_ ’ He mind screamed. Then Jojen reacted before she could comprehend.

Drawing a knife from his belt, he threw it, quick as a snake. It whistled in the air before piercing into the guard’s arm, causing him to drop his weapon. Another knife came flying from her husband and hit landed into the other shoulder, causing the soldier to drop to the ground. Shaking off her fear, Sansa brought around her bow hastily, pulling out an arrow, and aimed at Tywin.

Cold was her voice as she stated with false lightness, “I do hope this isn’t a trap, my Lord. As the entire place is surrounded with my people.”

The older man glanced at, before glaring back down at the fallen guard. Teeth gritted, he growled, “No. This was not planned.”

The guard began to beg and plead as his lord came marching over to him, “Please! Please, I’m sorry! I was ordered to! He was threatening my family, I didn’t know what-“ His frantic babbling was cut off as Lord Lannister stepped on his injured arm, drawing out a scream of pain.

“ _Who. Ordered. You._ ” The man demanded and the guard sobbed on the ground in reply. Continuing, Tywin rumbled a threat, pressing harder onto the arm, “If you think you would be more in danger from whom ever ordered you, you are a fool.”

Still crying, Sansa watched with bile in her throat at the torture. She had never seen someone lack so much mercy, and on a wounded and begging person at that. Still keeping her arrow trained on the older man, Jojen had swiftly come around to the other side of her, checking on his father. Behind her, Lady had a low growl rumbling in the back of her throat, ready to attack.

Quickly darting her eyes around, Sansa also noticed the Crannogmen in hiding. To an untrained eye they would be invisible, hidden deep within the bushes and grass, but Sansa had learnt. And all were ready to let loose their weapons when given the signal.

_Sansa’s_ signal.

Another whimpering cry had Sansa focusing back on the guard who attacked them, and heard with no surprise, that King Joffrey had threatened the man to kill Sansa. Perhaps he never got over that slight those few years ago.

Listening to the man’s story, deciphering between all the sobbing, they learnt that his words were true. That his family was practically held hostage so that he would complete the order given.

Slowly, Sansa loosened her position, and gave the signal to stand down to her people. Glancing down at Lord Reed who was still half way in her lap, she noticed that the wound wasn’t too serious if given medical attention. Jojen’s face was pale with worry though, and after she gave him a comforting touch on his shoulder, she called out to Lord Tywin.

“I hope in light of these events, you manage to bring your grandson to heel.”

He glared at her from the corner of his eye. “ _Do not._ Tell me how to command _my_ family.”

She continued on though, relentlessly pointing out, “He will bring destruction to your family, Lord Lannister.” And at her warning, he deepened his glare. But he did not fault it, as they both knew she was right. Looking down at the pale faced guard, Sansa then said, “Do not punish him. I think the fear of loosing his family was enough. We hold nothing against him for his actions.”

And with that, she stood up, Jojen and her working together to bring his father up into a stance. Lady came over, nudging Sansa out of the way and fulling supporting Lord Reed’s weight. With a curtsey to Lord Lannister, they left in silence.

She trusted the Crannogmen to keep watch of their backs until they were safe, and turned her focus onto her good-father. Her confusion and gratefulness was sincere as she stuttered out, “I- I don’t know how to thank you.”

He gave her a kind smile and waved her off, “No thanks is needed, Sansa. You are family. I promised to look out for you.”

She couldn’t hold her tongue as she blurted out, “But you could have died!”

“Happily, Princess.” He said with no regret and all promise. But seeing how pale and scared her husband still was, she argued on, not wanting to accept that sacrifice. 

She was shaking her head in denial, in refusal. “No. _No_ , you will never do that to me again. You will _never_ do that to your children again!” It was a command, but he did not reply to it, just smiled and looked ahead.

When back inside the swamp, Sansa was quick to look at his wound. It was deep, hitting far into the muscle. But it did not hit anything important. He would have an aching shoulder for a long time, perhaps his who life. But he would still have his life, and that is what matters.

Jojen was quiet the whole time, shaken from his father being injured. Sansa too was not feeling that good, but she kept steady hands as she dressed his wound.

That evening, after getting Howland onto his float, Meera taking up the task to watch him, Sansa and Jojen fell into bed, exhausted.

Her husband was still so silent, so she offered him her arms, and he readily embraced her. His shaking did not stop until he was deep into his sleep. Sansa laid there, stroking his hair, listening to the sound of the swamp animals creak, croak, and chitter outside their four walls.

She hoped that now that the war had begun to close, they could fit back into their lives before. It was all she could hope for.

“Sansa.”

A groan. “Is it my turn?”

A sleepy grunt was her answer. With a heavy sigh, she snagged the snake before it could attack or hurry away. Yawning, she brushed aside the netting with one hand, ignoring the wiggling snake in her other, and shuffled out of the house.

Taking aim, she drew her arm back and watched as the snake squirmed and soar through the air before hitting the water with a splash.

Scratching at her head, Sansa came back into her home, closing the door with a soft thud. Climbing back under the netting, she readily collapsed into her husband’s arms. Snuggling into his chest, she let out another sigh.

“I hate snake mornings.”

He hummed in amusement, voice deep with sleep, “You deal with them so well though, Sansa.”

Tiredly laughing, her arm slid over his waist, holding him closer. She could feel his nimble fingers run through her hair, playing and petting the locks.

The air smelt like rich earth and home. The sunlight coming through their open window was warm as it caressed their exposed shoulders. The freckles on their bodies were abundant like the stars at night, and Sansa could not keep count no matter how long she spent trying.

“You are truly a part of the swamp now, wife.” A muttered, and feeling light with humour, Sansa pondered out loud, “A princess living in the swamp. The songs will be amusing that is for sure.”

He rolled up until he was hovering above her, hands on either side of her face. He gave small smile and leant down, placing a soft kiss on her lips. Sansa returned the gesture, hands drawing up his arms, over his shoulders, and into his hair.

The humidity hadn’t hit yet, so his curls weren’t too noticeable. But in the afternoon, when he comes into the house for some water, she will run her fingers through them like she always did.

Gazing up into those fond, green eyes, Sansa let out a peel of laughter as he flopped down onto her body, becoming a wheeze as the air left her lungs. He hummed thoughtfully in her ear a proclaimed with amusement, “A swamp princess. Is that what you are?”

Tracing her fingertips up his spine, she smiled up at the netting above them. “If you say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet, everything sorta wrapped up. Sorry if it wasn’t the bamf finish that you wanted. They are just wanting to get on with a happy life, filled with warm mornings and snakes in the bed. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! All the lovely comments were so appreciated and maybe I have inspired you to write some sansa/jojen stories!
> 
> Edit:so i have a feeling some of you are unhappy with the ending. Wanting to know more of the future with the change of northern independence and all. But guys, i didnt even want this to be a long story. None of this was planned i was literally making it up as i went. So if the ending is lackluster im sorry. I just wanted to write a cute one shot but my mind took over and wrote something longer.   
> If you want to know the future, then write it! Seriously, if you like the idea and plotline go for it, make it. I would be so happy to read it.


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